


The Apex Predator

by FourthAxis



Series: Alphaverse [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha Hannibal, Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta Will, Betrayal, Blow Jobs, Case Fic, Casual Sex, Deception, Denial of Feelings, Hannibal is Hannibal, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Oppressive Society, S1 amalgamation with some S2 elements, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Will is not what he seems to be, all that jazz, kindof romantic, plenty of cases, the encephalitis is something else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 76,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourthAxis/pseuds/FourthAxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Will Graham, a Beta, has plenty of problems in life, and his ability to dangerously empathize with serial killers is only one of them. After the events in the Hobbs house took an unsatisfying turn and left their mark on Will, Dr. Lecter is employed by the FBI to make sure their new asset is fit for further duty. Fortunately for none involved, Dr. Lecter sees exactly what lies under Will's skin and decides to make a medical and psychological game out of it. Feelings, unfortunately, get involved and muddy the game.</p><p>-----------<br/>A mix of S1 story elements with some original shit and a pinch of S2 thrown in, all spread over toasty ABO shenanigans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I almost gave up on this because of structural and pacing problems, but it's 2/3 written and I'll be damn if I let it go to waste. I'm banking on the pressure of publishing to get me to fix the doo-doos and finish it. Updates every 5 (or less) days because I don't fuck around when I tag something as slow. If I start running out of material to post, I will have to slow down. Hope you find something worth your time in this story. Also, no mpreg. Ever. Any kind of preg at all, male or female. None of it. Implied, certainly, but from afar. Sorry, squick :/

 

Will Graham worked for him two years ago, solved three cases with unparalleled efficiency and then ran head first into The Ripper murders. Dead ends, cold clues, a trainee missing, and his best profiler living on all coffee and no sleep. Will wasn’t reinstated back to teaching because he wanted it. No, that was something Jack wanted. When he heard Will talk of divine punishment and making the victims presentable to the world, that was when Jack did him the favour and sent him home. It felt like a better solution that losing his nerve on Will and his disrespect towards the victims. No one was in a good place back then. Took the guy several months to get back into teaching and they never spoke of it since. Jack left him alone for a good long time until girls started disappearing around Minnesota and his own team ran into dead end after dead end.

Will Graham had his issue, but Jack didn't have time for that, for his rosy rhetoric and ever avoidant eye contact. The Beta was a hard thing to read, but Jack had even less time for that. He wanted answers, theories, results, _anything_. Being the head of the FBI’s Behavioural Science Unit weighted on him. People were expecting thing from him, expecting him to make a breakthrough. Young girls disappeared left and right, up to eight at this point, and still no progress on the case, no bodies. That was why he went against better judgement, against Dr. Bloom’s advice, and pulled Will out of the classroom and into the field. He had his break, a good long one too. This was worth the discomfort.

Jack gave him five minutes to shake off, do his thing, get his head under the water if that’s what it took to calm him, but when the time ticked too long he stepped into the bathroom himself.

“What are you doing in here?” The head of the BSU was on edge, a roar just waiting to fly out of him. First the killer takes the girls and now he’s returning them, albeit less alive then when they disappeared. Will called it an apology and that was too vague to fly with Jack. He wanted his answers thorough and palpable and he wanted them fast.

“I enjoy the smell of urinal cake,” Will deadpanned as he wiped his face with a paper towel. The Beta was blatant with his tongue, especially when tension was high. In Jack’s eyes it made him simpler to talk too; less status related nonsense getting in the way, less courteous cowering in the presence of a superior. Those things were grating. Results rarely came from cowards.

“Me too. Let’s talk,” and he would have, Jack was all but ready to pounce the subject with fervour because that’s why he was in there, standing in a fancy red-and-white bathroom that vaguely smelled of urine after a full day of use. Someone stepped in and Jack smelled the other Beta before he even opened the door. They should have picked their place for discussion a little better, but it was too late in the day for Jack to care and the intrusion was just what he needed to release the pressure with his voice.

“Use the ladies room!!!”

The guy was positively mortified with the bellow the Alpha released on him, backtracking and running out of the bathroom like devils chased him. All spirits left Will’s face at that as well, drained of colour at the sound bouncing off the walls. He gripped the rim of the sink and leaned against it, willing away his pallor as he was sure Jack would want to continue their talk, unperturbed by Will’s sudden loss of voice. Alphas had that effect on people, especially when they’d raise their voices.

“What’s the killer apologising for?” And his tone was back to normal with the turn of his head.

“He couldn’t honour her,” Will paced away from Jack, drawing distance before he offered the rest of his explanation. “He feels bad.”

“Sorry? Feels bad?” The reaction Jack had was a lot more baffled than angered. “Feeling bad defeats the purpose of being a psychopath, doesn’t it?”

“He’s a different kind of crazy. This guy...” Will paced about the bathroom, nerves rattling behind eyes that couldn’t stick to one spot. Less so, Jack suspected, for the tone of his voice than for the memories his mind dug back up over and over. “He loves these girls! And it’s not _that_ kind of love, but he does. Love them. By association. They are a replacement for someone he loves, and in her stead they also get a piece of his love. He’s respectful about it, doesn’t want them to suffer, kills them quickly.” Will stopped again, meeting Jack’s gaze but only for a moment. “This is mercy in his eyes.”

“Sensitive psychopath,” Jack mocked, “that still doesn’t answer half of my questions like why he risked—”

“He’s eating them,” a details Will was sitting on ever since he had a closer look at the wounds left on the returned body. A discovery made as his thoughts jumped from factor to factor, left for forensics to prove valid. “She had surgical wounds and her liver was tampered with. Something must be wrong with the meat...”

The silence was deafening as possibilities, soon to be facts, settled on their minds. It’s hard to congratulate anyone on such a find. When Jack looked at his profiler he saw eyes lost in a stranger’s madness, struggling to pull out. He decided it was definitely time take Dr. Bloom’s advice and introduce the Beta with some form of stability. He was too valuable not to have around, and so was his mind. Someone needed to keep him in check.

+++

Franklyn was increasingly difficult to be around. The same predicament that had him bouncing from dozen upon dozen of psychiatrist was once again surfacing, once again his interest had shifted from personal improvement to an unhealthy fixation with his therapist.

Dr. Lecter did not cut their session short, though, not even as he smelled a familiar Alpha enter his waiting room. Familiar but unwanted. He was free to close for the day after Franklyn would leave, but clearly that would not be the case now. As he escorted his patient out, Jack Crawford was all but ready to barge in and have their talk. Dr. Lecter, polite but harsh, told him to keep waiting in the lobby. First came paperwork, then came unexpected guests. Authoritative behaviour was frowned upon, especially in his castle.

“You should have called,” the doctor said with a smile as Jack was finally allowed entrance.

“This was a bit of a last minute decision, doctor.”

It was considered improper to continuously receive psychological evaluations by the same doctor, so Dr. Bloom sent him some two months ago with a recommendation to Hannibal Lecter, an esteemed colleague of hers. Jack was sceptical at first, what with receiving a psych eval from another Alpha, but his doubts were quickly dispersed after a shared meal himself and Alana Bloom attended. Such an erudite gentleman, Dr. Lecter, it felt improper and below him, both of them, to even consider a pissing contest in his presence. Jack felt much the same now as he did before, after waiting fifteen minutes in the lobby; he should have called. But that act would be reserved for a man who had a lot less on his mind that Jack did.

“I don’t suppose this has anything to do with your evaluation?” Dr. Lecter offered him a seat and took his position behind the desk.

“No, no. Nothing quite that serious, yet,” Jack joked but in reality such things were rarely laughing matter. “I’m here because I’d like you to help me with a psychological profile.”

“Oh?”

“One of our special agents, a Beta. He’s a profiler himself and, well, saying he has _some issues_ would be drastically oversimplifying it. Frankly, I don’t know what goes around in his head, but I would like to know and I would like for it not to get out of hand for him.”

Jack shared as many details about Will Graham as he felt comfortable to share. Mostly he referred to his body of work and the effect it had on him. Nothing piqued Dr. Lecter’s interest more than mentioning his potential future patient used to work on The Ripper cases. With the FBI offering to cover any and all expenses, it was a hard opportunity to refuse. The real pitcher was not the money, which Hannibal Lecter had plenty, or esteem that would come with it, but the person.

“He’s eerily good at figuring out the way our serial killers tick, but I find his reclusive life worrying. I just want to be sure his mind doesn’t take him places we can’t follow. That’s where you come in. Alana Bloom refused the offer for professional reasons, but also, I suspect, as not to inconvenience him.”

Dr. Lecter frowned at that. It was hard to imagine a person who would be inconvenienced by Dr. Alana Bloom. Very few were the people – Hannibal could count them on one hand – that could match her in wit and charm. She was brilliant at soothing people, opening them up to conversation, and it had less to do with her Omega nature than her use of skills she picked up during the time he mentored her.

“Graham suffers from repulsion,” Jack explained. “It can get difficult for him.”

+++

Smelling the air of the room warned Will something just wasn’t right. It felt a little like an ambush being stuck in a room with two Alphas, Jack Crawford who called him to his office and another, some guy he never saw before, observing the pinboard of victims of the recently named Minnesota Shriek. Will eyed cautiously the stranger’s back as he took a seat across Crawford.

“This is Dr. Lecter, I’ve asked him for some help on this case.”

The man turned and, before he could do anything silly like walk over and shake his hands, Will raised the plastic cup of coffee he walked in with in a mock salute, silent. The Alpha took it well enough, with a tiny smile and a nod, before taking a seat next to Will.

“The latest victim is all over Tattlecrime.com. Freddie’s found herself someone here to squeeze for info.”

Crawford was terribly offended by the thought of someone under his wing stupid enough to do that, and Will all but mirrored his contempt. “Tasteless,” he muttered.

“Do you have trouble with taste?” The question came from Dr. Lecter just as Will had another sip of coffee, sugarless not by volition but by the lack of it in the machine. It felt almost appropriate to round out these bitter days of wallowing in someone else’s madness with an equally bitter coffee.

“My thoughts are often not tasty.”

“Nor mine. No effective barriers.”

Will blatantly ignored the doctor’s attempt at banter, concentrating his eyes ahead on his boss’ hands. Jack shuffled through a mountain of papers on his desk as he went over the details leaked on the site. They were abundant, and Will doubted whoever leaked got paid well enough for it. He saw the man next to him move and tilt his head in the corner of his sight.

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Dr. Lecter said with a lilt to his voice, a tell-tale sign of the confidence he had in his words, already making further assessments than those.

“Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough.” Will managed to behave for the first few lines, but as he turned and glimpsed the self-assured smile, eyes not threading further than the finely sculpted lips, his tongue was hard to hold back, even with the company. “And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, _ohh_ those whites are really white or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”

The snide comment did not dither the other man. In fact, it gave him more of an incentive for a winded response. “I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked by the jumps you make, appalled by your dreams. Little place to hide the things you love from all that taint.”

Will went eerily silent when he recognized himself in those words. He aimed a look of betrayal at his boss and asked, “What _case_ is he really working on?”

Dr. Lecter played his cards well in the short lived dispute that followed; he offered an apology and he picked a side, aiming both at Will. The Beta was eager to leave, vexed by the trap he felt his boss pushed him in to, but Jack gave him a sharp look and spoke with the calmest voice he could draw.

“Sit down, we’re not done yet.”

Jack was an efficient boss. When he spoke people heard _him_ and not just his status. Dr. Lecter sat still in his chair and quietly observed, mostly his soon-to-be project. He was so close to storming out, even with a command like that given not just by his boss but by an Alpha. Atypical for a Beta to be this brash, but not unheard of. Jack didn’t use a harsh voice, after all. Will settled for the safe choice, one that wouldn’t elect a yell that would freeze him at the door, and sat down quietly after prolonged seconds of contemplation. There was a point to this meeting and it had everything to do with a sliver of evidence found on the latest victim.

Dr. Lecter had heard it before the Beta came in, and found little amusement in hearing it again. He kept his interest watching Will Graham spring to conclusions out of thin air, pure associations. He made his gift of empathy look a lot like a curse, and who wouldn’t when made to tread deep waters full of unpleasant, vicious thoughts. A frightening gift it was to assume such a sharply defined point of view of those that society deemed abhorrent, to understand them in such an intrusive way. The waters of Will’s own mind could so easily get polluted, couldn’t they? Or they already were.

A better opportunity for games Hannibal Lecter could not have gotten even if he asked. Modern life was a tedious set of affairs and a man like Dr. Lecter, a man of fine taste and odd proclivities, he made his own entertainment right under the nose of an administration that would have him locked and medicated. _Would have,_ if he didn’t know all the tricks, if he wasn’t himself part of the administration. Psychological evaluations were a trivial things to fool, even more so when one knew all the tricks. A plebeian way of establishing civil behaviour among the ranks of people susceptible to abuse of power. Dr. Lecter had his own though about civil behaviour, though they did not always align with the system. Or at all.

And here he was, well over four decades of life and two decades of practice under his belt and the system was yet to evaluate him as a threat to himself and others. Working as a psychiatrist certainly had its benefits, beyond the sheer joy he got from digging through foreign minds and rearranging the furniture.

+++

The reason Crawford had them sitting in his office was evidence – a tiny scrap of metal, shred from a pipe threader found on the victim’s clothes. The lab results came soon after. Certain kinds of metal, certain kinds of coating – they all factored in the creation of a list of five construction sites. The list was in Will’s hands and he was eager to get out of the office and do some work. Not quite as eager to have the doctor come along with him but his boss made it non-debatable.

“Curious how the FBI goes about their business,” Dr. Lecter said as their car pulled up towards the first construction site they would investigate that day. “I was expecting a lot more doors being kicked down.”

The words broke the stale gaze Will held on the road they parked on. He gave a crooked smile and said, “TV exaggerates.” He managed a side-glance that reached as far as Hannibal’s noise before he pulled them back to finish parking. “We’re lucky we’re not doing house to house interviews.”

Hannibal watched the Beta more closely while the other had his eyes on the rear-view mirror. His clothes felt drab and lifeless, washed one too many times with detergents that did not respect colour. The only thing that stood out on Will was his unkept look. Not a man to attract attention, probably didn’t want any to begin with. A shame, Hannibal thought, for the Beta was easy on the eyes under all those layers designed to detract needless socialising. But the real prize on him was the mind. The machine ticking inside his skull worked with exceptional precision. Nothing about this Gareth Jacob Hobbs guy seemed suspicious beyond the bad book keeping, a mistake far too easy to gloss over. Will Graham didn’t. They spent a good hour drawing grimaces from the secretary as they rummaged through boxes of paperwork and the only thing that caught his sight was the lack of an address on Mr. Hobbs’s resignation letter. Hardly a thing to be suspicious about, but in Will’s own words, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.

Hannibal suspected Will didn’t quite think his words through. It was bound to hurt, especially if the man turned out to draw suspicion in Will. A moment alone in the office gave Dr. Lecter a chance to make a phone call, a little courtesy call to make things interesting. Either something would happen from it or nothing would. As they drove towards the Hobbs residence, Hannibal cycled through all the possible outcomes and found the most desirable one to be the outcome where the Beta pulls out with blood-stained hands. There was potential here, he felt, untapped and raw. A mind like his was something that deserved careful exploration.

What Dr. Lecter’s little phone call gave him was even better than that. Before they could park, the wife’s body got pushed out the front door, blood gushing on the asphalt.

“Stay in the car,” Will warned as he scrambled out of the vehicle and towards the body, “and call for backup!”

Hannibal did a part of what he was told. He called for backup as his eyes wondered curiously over the Beta and the thousand silent _no-no-no_ s stringing out of his dry lips. He tried to stop the bleeding with his hands but with a large slice over her throat, the wife was too far gone and beyond help. A scream from indoors drove Will to his feet and Dr. Lecter out of the car. He didn’t plan on just sitting there, not when this turned out to be quite a show already. Not when the profiler stood up and grabbed his gun with blood-stained hands, shaking, but no less courageous to push through the door and run inside. Hannibal reached the wife just in time to see her eyes glaze over. Too late for her, nothing to ruin his clothes over. He heard shots fired, one-two-three-four. There were more coming but he sneezed and sneezed again, unable to count them all pouring out in quick succession. Ten would be his estimate when the noise stopped. Hannibal was quick to recognise that smell that itched his nose – an Omega was in there, losing blood and losing it fast. But the full picture that unveiled as Hannibal stepped into the kitchen, unrushed and careful, was something else.

Gareth Jacob Hobbs lay dead, riddled with bullet holes. His daughter also lay on the kitchen floor, blood gushing with the rhythm of her frantic heart out of the half-slice on her neck. Dr. Lecter switched to breathing through his mouth in order not to sneeze again and crouched besides her, trying his best to stop the gushing with his hands around her neck. She lost a lot of blood but could still be saved. Curious, though, for where was Will to assist her? When the doctor’s hands settled over her injury properly and stopped needles spillage, he looked around and found Will behind the kitchen table, out cold and collapsed next to a pool of his own vomit.

He recalled then Jack’s words, the reason Alana Bloom found herself to be an inadequate choice to keep the profiler stable. Dr. Lecter knew a thing or two about repulsion, it itched his nose right at that very moment, but never did he hear of a condition being this severe. The sound of police and ambulance sirens soon filled the Hobbs driveway and Hannibal found he couldn’t wait to get home, pull a few strings and have Will Graham’s health record delivered to him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 - the doctor does house calls with eggs and sausage, the profiler ignores his problems

 

The drilling sound of a phone vibrating against wood was persistent throughout the morning. Jack was persistent. Maybe he was worried, maybe he was only interested in ironing out some bureaucratic details. It didn’t matter much because Will was not going to answer the phone that early in the morning, not after so few hours of sleep, if any graced him at all. He couldn’t tell. The only effort he made was to let the dogs out.

Dreams were unnecessary to see the blank stare of Garrett Jacob Hobbs look down on him as he tried to help his daughter. All he had to do was close his eyes, but then the gun would go off too. Blinding flashes and deafening shots that resonated through that kitchen as loud as they did in his skull. It was hard pinpointing what he felt worse for, but the failure to help the girl stung deep. He tried, got so far as putting his hands on the gushing slash, but the waft of her blood disorientated him, turned his stomach inside out and dotted his vision with blindingly bright stars. He had to move away from her for fear of losing his lunch on her, and with good reason because he did just that in the few shaky steps he made to pull back. The symmetric pattern of the tiles was the last things his eyes saw before his mind shut down, overly sensitized by the smell. The paramedics woke him, on them a look of disappointment. They thought he couldn’t handle the violence.

Dr. Lecter was the one who kept the girl, Abigail, from bleeding out long enough for the ambulance to pick her up. She was alive but barely, stuck in ICU, no doctor hopeful enough to declare her waking any time soon. Will walked by her room and saw Dr. Lecter there, the man that saved her life keeping company to the sleeping girl that had no one left. He couldn’t step foot inside. Felt wrong doing it. Guilty.

Will fed his pack of dogs as soon as he got home in Wolf Trap; a lonely piece of land that surrounded him with dark woods and few roads, even fewer neighbours. Wonderfully fitting for a man with all the intention of wallowing in pity and guilt for the rest of the evening. He forgot to feed himself when he crawled under the covers after four fingers of scotch, but it wasn’t hunger that kept him stirring. Some semblance of sleep drawn from exhaustion was about to come with the rise of morning sun, but in came Jack with his incessant phone calls, and when they died down, knocks on the door replaced them. He couldn’t ignore those.

“Good morning,” Dr. Lecter greeted him with a reserved yet sunny smile. He gave Will a quick look over, taking in his lack of proper clothing and bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t come too early, did I?”

Nine o’clock was not something Will considered early, but today was a special case that left him irritable. He didn’t care about answering the door in nothing but boxers and a white t-shirt, didn’t much care for letting the doctor in either.

“Where’s Crawford?” Will asked without so much as a greeting, knowing the doctor couldn’t be here on his own volition.

“He called just as I was preparing breakfast,” Dr. Lecter raised awareness towards the cotton bag he carried. “It seems him and I had much the same thought, though it was his insistence my visit be a morning one. May I come in?”

The dogs were curious to have a go at the rare visitor that came to the porch. They observed quietly until they noticed Will offer entrance. Quickly they abandoned their stick and toys to hurl towards the door and have a sniff with their moist snouts and dirty paws. Will couldn’t imagine the doctor enjoying that, but least of all did he want an Alpha cowering his dogs into submission. He stepped out on the porch before he let the doctor in and whistled sharply to get the attention of the rushing pack. All of them stopped at the wooden steps that led to his porch and waited, tails wagging with joy.

“Off limits,” Will said, snapped his fingers and pointed with a swift motion towards the field where they played. Almost immediately they scattered back to their games.

“Very obedient,” Dr. Lecter complimented.

“They just know how to listen.”

Will stepped aside to let the doctor in and then excused himself for a few moments, listening to the residues of courtesy harkening for some time in the bathroom to get sense back into his head and sight in his eyes. Not one for quick showers but he made an exception that day. Clothes, on the other hand, he didn’t bother with at all. He put on the same things he slept in, albeit clean, with all the intentions of getting back to his bed when the doctor leaves. The bathrobe he pulled on was there to appease a sense of decency.

Will stepped out of the steamy bathroom and into his house washed with morning light that made him squint and curse under his breath. All the blinds were opened, curtains pulled from the windows and the kitchen table was set with breakfast for two. Dr. Lecter apologised for going through his kitchen, a detail Will didn’t appreciate but found hard to argue against when the smell of breakfast clammed his mouth shut. A kind gesture, however unwanted. The Alpha was polite in ways Will didn’t expect, let alone want, but arguing them would be discourteous. That much he could tell from his very first glance; Dr. Lecter loved courtesy.

The man came to his door dressed sharp, a prim and proper gentleman, but took the hint of informality Will projected when he let him in. His jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he waited for Will to take his seat at the table. The seat the Alpha was holding out for him. Will scoffed, loud enough for the doctor to hear, and took the offered seat while trying not to have his eyes linger on the arms. They looked strong, dangerous, but Alphas often were just that. His mind drew associations from forgotten, dusty corners of his mind; memories of a girl with hands that looked less like that but were equally dangerous. She knew how to use them well and _that_ , that was a highly inappropriate thought to have during shared breakfast.

Will cleared his throat and focused instead on what was in front of him, on his own table, so neatly set it hardly looked his. He didn’t even remember the last time he sat and ate by the kitchen table. What was the point when living alone? He looked up at the guest that joined him on the other end, past the knot of his expensive looking tie, the slightly tilted neck with the barest trace of silver, and thin lips that ghosted a smile. Age was kind to the Alpha, for whom Will assumed had a decade on him, and yet no ring on his finger. Will’s eyes got as far as the nose, and stayed there.

“This feels less like good intentions and more like a peace offering,” he gestured at the food, scrambled eggs and sausages with coffee still hot from a thermos bottle poured into his favourite mug. “I prefer my bad news before I start eating.”

Hannibal withheld the smile for the perception he was met with, for the lingering eyes that darted around looking for safety, for the surprise that slipped the Beta when he noticed Hannibal guessed correctly which mug he used often. Not a terribly hard guess to make; it was the only one that looked worn out and faded, well used and with a logo that invoked the thought of a dog food company.

“Jack Crawford wants you to undergo a psychological evaluation.” Will’s eyes lit up with alarm at those words. Hannibal was certain he’d have gone pale with worry if he didn’t elaborate himself. “Nothing to worry about,” Hannibal assured him, “not the same protocol Alphas undergo. What he wants to know is that you’re fit to get back to work.”

“I have a class tomorrow,” Will said dryly. “I don’t intend to ignore it. Nor do I need someone to pick my head apart to see if I’m fit to continue _teaching._ ”

“I don’t think teaching is the job Agent Crawford has in mind, Mr. Graham.”

Hannibal waited courtly for the news to sink in, for Will to mask the scowl growing on his face with a sip of coffee, and finally for him to grab his silverware. He only started eating after Will had tasted the scramble and hummed approvingly.

“I think it would be beneficial. The sight of that kitchen was harrowing,” Hannibal added after a few beats of silence, reminding him that he was present that day as well. Will’s face curled with shame and anger as he stared persistently at the eggs slowly disappearing from the plate. He was yet to try the sausage.

“Or we could socialise like adults,” that remark drew Will’s head up from the plate, a brow strung high with curiosity. “God forbid we become friendly.”

Will chuckled and there was something very snide in his voice, provocative. Something that would incite a lesser Alpha and bruise their pride. “You’re not _that_ interesting, doctor.”

Hannibal was not a lesser Alpha; he knew the songs of control and calculation. The response he gave Will came with a simple smile, void of all threat and pretence. “Not in your company, certainly. Agent Crawford told me a few things about you. He says you have a knack for monsters.”

“Superstition,” Will laughed, avoidant of the eyes again, and Hannibal had to wonder if some part of him, buried deep under layers and layers of incognizant thoughts, knew just how wrong everything was, knew who he was eating with.

“Ever had any problems, Mr. Graham? With your gift or otherwise.”

“Will,” the Beta corrected, showing a lack of love for the formalities but also a crack in the ice. Everything started with a name. “And no, none worth mentioning.” He finished his eggs, sat straight, and looked at him, waiting, anticipating the fact that the doctor was not done speaking.

“Uncle Jack doesn’t quite see it that way,” Hannibal showed a dash of sympathy, but not too much else he’d offend. “I believe to him you are more like a fragile little tea-cup, the finest china used only for special guests.”

Will smiled again, still cheeky but less forced. Hannibal found it a great deal more appealing. “Special guests being serial killers?”

“So would the analogy imply.”

“And what do you see me as?”

Hannibal felt another unnecessary challenge directed at him, a way to score points or lose them, so he offered a flattery in return, one he would put to test. “The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by,” he delivered with a smile. “Finish your breakfast,” he added with the slightest trace of command in his voice.

The doctor continued with his meal, but Will found himself a little struck by what he heard, unsure of how to take it. He assumed it was a compliment of some kind, and left it at that. The sausage was the only thing left on his plate so he cut it into pieces and took a bite. Not expecting much, what he got from that one bite was an exceptional combination of meat and spice he just couldn’t place.

“Dr. Lecter,” he asked before an unwanted croon left him, “what am I eating and where do I buy it?”

“Hannibal,” the doctor corrected with a lopsided grin, “and I prefer making all of my meals, sausage included. I’m very conscious about what I put in my body.”

“I’m going to have to ask for the recipe then,” Will pushed curiously.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell. Family secret.” Hannibal amused himself with the sight of the Beta eager to finish the sausage he almost ignored entirely. “I’d have to kill you if you found out.”

+++

“Please stop that,” Will raised his voice when he came to class that day. All twenty of his students got up with a thunderous applause, congratulating him on a life well snuffed. Two of them, as far as Will was concerned. Knowing the FBI and their need to hide their stains, he was pretty certain the news knew nothing of his colossal failure to save the girl. Not that Will knew for sure; he did not open his TV at all, or look at the paper, but the applause was enough of a tip off.

The subject of his lecture that day was the very man he killed, the Minnesota Shrike. It made sense to do it for his student, fresh memory and all. It even managed to make sense in his own head when he assembled the presentation in the quiet morning hours after another sleepless night. Alana called, tried to talk him out of it, make him take a week off. He could tell she was so close to coming over and convincing him in person – she’d have a lot more success like that. But Alana rarely did, and while her intentions were good, it always stung a little. Unintentional reminders of inadequacy. He couldn’t hold it against her.

Also, she was right. Will made it through the lecture intact on the outside, but the inside was a different story. He could barely get himself to glimpse backwards towards the slides filled with photos of smiling people. Dead people. Garrett Jacob Hobbs excused his murders by honouring his victims, eating them, using every last piece those girls had to offer. What Will did to him honoured nothing, painted him a killer. The tragedy was not in his head, it was not a sliver of a dead man’s consciousness still lodged in his thoughts. No, no – two years ago he ran head first into the blackest chasm he’d ever seen. That experience left him careful. It was what happened in that house that wrung him dry. _How_ it happened.  

“Garrett Jacob Hobbs is dead,” Will said at the end of his lecture, “and the only thing we can do now is hope no one finds his work inspiring.”

His students cleared out all the while dropping hopeful glances in his direction, eager to catch his attention and maybe even a word in private about the recent victory. Will wasn’t in the mood, eyes avoidant and back turned to his class and to the two figures that spent the last fifteen minutes of his presentation waiting and listening in silence.

“I take it you’re feeling better today,” Will felt Jack’s presence before he even heard him. “Therapy working on you already?”

“It’s an acquired taste I’ve yet to find,” he rubbed the itch in his noise before turning around and the first person he greeted was Alana. He turned then to Jack, clarifying, “I haven’t had my check up with him yet.”

Jack let out an exasperated sigh and Alana spoke up before he could. “You’ve never killed someone before, Will. It’s a deadly force encounter, a lot to digest.”

“I use to work in homicide—”

“ _Used to_ ,” Jack intervened, “because you couldn’t stomach pulling the trigger. Now you’ve pulled it ten times. This is for your own good.”

“This is for _your_ own good,” Will disputed.

“Yes,” Jack tone turned a touch colder at Will’s bristling voice. “I want to sleep peacefully at night knowing you didn’t get too close to Hobbs. Is that a problem?”

“Therapy is a problem. I don’t enjoy people digging around my head.”

“Have you asked Will about his return to the field?” Alana derailed the subject with intention before things got a little too hot.

“I want you back in the field but not before I’m sure you’re ready. The time in which you caught Hobbs was exceptional and I can’t sit here anymore ignoring that.”

“And I want you to know you’re not obliged to agree to this,” Alana addressed Will, her voice smooth and cool, a balm for a conversation that could have gone to worse place with Will running on little sleep and spent patience. “Isn’t that right Jack?”

“Yes,” the Alpha agreed with little fuss or friction.

Will promised to call Dr. Lecter and arrange an appointment. He wasn’t opposed helping, he wasn’t opposed saving lives, but after what happened he needed to find a fix for the mess he felt he created. It weighted on him. Every slammed door, every clang of heels against concrete, every honk of a car and any sudden and sharp noise that day felt like a gunshot going off in his head. Bang, bang, bang. Five shots too many, and that was being generous. The more he re-examined the way he dealt with Hobbs the less he liked it and perhaps for once the answer truly was talking about it. But it couldn’t be just _anyone._

Alana stayed behind after Jack left, very considerate of her proximity when she saw Will wipe his nose. He’d rather she wasn’t, but that was nothing she needed to know.

“You didn’t get any sleep today, did you?” Even with a frown she didn’t look any less charming in his eyes.

“Not for lack of trying.”

“I can vouch for Hannibal. He’s a good man,” she broke her code of keeping distance to squeeze his shoulder, trail her hand down his arm almost lovingly, just like her smile. A tiny offer of reassurance, a tiny promise of a better day tomorrow. “I hope you’re as serious about giving him a call as you are about returning to the field. It would do you good. Have a talk with him at least.”

He watched her walk away, like many times before, and felt that same old sense of want. The kind he was forbidden from, wasn’t good enough for.

“Alana,” he called out and the Omega twirled on her heels as she reached the door, a questioning look set on her face. Will slinked his shoulders apologetically and said, “I forgot to write his number down.”

He didn’t forget, he just threw the paper away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3, in which the Alphas get discussed a lot, Hannibal hunts, Alana worries, Will avoids until he doesn't, and ice melts over similarities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big ass chapter I didn't want to split, so it's here to keep you warm until Friday or Saturday. Enjoy and try not to cringe, still looking for a Beta(-reader).

Loneliness was inherent in his world. It had been since his childhood when he lost the last living ties to his family, but the ties he had to the world waned as well. No one quite saw it like Hannibal did, for what it truly was – a congregation of pitiful beasts brought up to follow rules, slaves to their primal instincts and breaking under the punishing thumb of nature. Breaking into madness. He learned early to keep it to himself, but he took that madness and turned it in to something beautiful.

Hannibal did not deny himself the love he had for the thrill of it, the wind against his face as he gave chase through the woods in an old fashioned hunt. The smell of fear coloured the air red in his eyes, inciting. For a man that worked in an office, the prey ahead knew how to run well. Good strong legs, but the accountant didn’t know those woods and he wasn’t _that_ nimble. He stumbled and fell when his foot caught against a log, half hidden among thick autumn leaves. Blood drummed in Hannibal’s ears and were he a lesser man, a lesser Alpha, he would succumb to the frenzy that was in his full right to enjoy. He didn’t though, once long ago but never since. It fit him poorly, that loss of control. Too messy, too vile. Discourteous. His breath calmed and his heart settled and the war drums in his ears stopped when he landed on top of his prey and snapped his neck, pleas drowned by the intoxicating waft of fear.

Hannibal Lecter had quite a few vices, some worse than others, none he could never live without, but all he very much enjoyed. The world was full of their own whims, rules and regulations, but the only whims Hannibal ever listened to were his own. Hedonism was an important construct not enough people indulged in well, and that went double for Alphas. Slaves to their bloodlust, they feared it too much to tame it. A rather pathetic situation, Hannibal would say, much like Mr. Bell who wouldn’t know common courtesy if it slapped him over the face. He did make for a fine hunt though, and even inspired a dish for that evening with his quick pace. _Definitely rabbit._

Loneliness was inherent in Hannibal’s world where so few understood, but he was never alone. Always surrounded by people, some more likeminded than others, some more frustrating than others, some more enjoyable than others. Colleagues, bed warmers, enthusiasts, suitors, boot lickers, patients, admirers, and the occasional challenger.

Never alone yet always lonely, even on an evening such as this.

It wasn't unheard of for them to have such intimate candle-lit dinners between a colleague and a friend. But Hannibal immediately felt her visit was a little too conveniently placed. There was an agenda here, and Alana was beating heavily around the bush, but their talks dissolve with ease into reminiscing about of the old days over a glass of beer and some Rabbit Stifado.

"Oh yes I remember that that time," she laughed and turned her head towards him. Hannibal sat at the head of the table and she to his right. "You had me examining Ph.D. candidates. Dreadfully boring work."

"Did you know most of them thought we were having an affair," Hannibal dropped the comment with nonchalance after a sip of wine. The Omega grinned in a way that might have been considered a little flirty. "Why didn't we?" He returned the smile.

"You were already having one." He put on a thoughtful face, as if to try and recall who that someone was. Alana looked reprimanding as she shook her head and said, "Don't play coy Hannibal, it doesn't suit you. You know damn well who."

"Do you?" He asked with genuine curiosity. Something about her tone gave her away, but given the answer she had ready, Alana wasn't hiding either.

"Of course. I'm resourceful," she winked and paused to take another bite of the delicious meal. It tasted like no rabbit she ever had, but she knew Hannibal and his refined taste in butchers. "You certainly know how to enjoy being single," she said and wondered absently if there was someone in his life right now. She envied that in him, the simplicity with which he entered these faux-relationships. Alana could never do it.

"Is this where we segue into your love life," he poked, knowing too well what her reaction would be.

She laughed nervous and drowned in beer to avoid that talk and the smirk it came with. "Oh no, please, I'm not drunk enough for that."

"Then how about the actual reason for your visit?"

With mock surprise on her face she spoke, "Could I not simply be here for your quality company and delicious food?"

"I don't doubt that for a second, but I know you well enough to see there's something you want to talk about, but can't find the courage."

"It has less to do with courage than uncertainty." She went quiet for another few bites of food before she broached the subject. "It's about Will Graham."

Their appointment was yet to be had. Alana was a day early if she wished to discuss patients with him, but that would imply some rather unethical conduct, and she was not that kind of therapist. The Omega must know they didn’t have their session yet.

"I'm worried about him," she confessed. "I've seen him at his worst. I've seen what this job can do to him, and I'm worried it will happen again."

"I'm afraid I'm not privy to that information. What exactly happened before?"

She debated long and hard with herself. There were so many things to say but none of them hers to say. But Alana was sharing dinner with a man who could draw apt conclusions out of the barest implications.

"I was very close to imposing psychiatric care on him. I chose instead to pay him regular visits during the months he took away from work. There were days when I would catch him talking in a voice I couldn't recognize." Alana sighed, stuck in a loop of old memories that turned her face sour. "It's not that I doubt you. I just... I just need some good old fashioned reassurance."

“You know well my competence,” the Alpha smiled with faked modesty, “and have little reason to worry. Besides, it would be some very damning luck for The Ripper to return now, wouldn’t it?”

They cheered to that, Alana in hope that some monsters never rear their ugly heads again and Hannibal for something completely different.

+++

“A little late for therapy, isn’t it.”

No greetings, just questions masked as statements. His appointment did come very late in the day, but the season made it seem like practically night time. It was 7:30 PM when Will was allowed to enter the office. Not a moment to late or a moment too early. Exactly as scheduled.

Dr. Lecter didn’t seem very bothered by the hour and he certainly made it clear with his care free tone. “The last of my patients leave at seven, which is when I close.”

“So this is after hour work for you?”

“I’m on the FBI payroll,” the doctor said without a trace of humour as he went through papers on his desk, but he amended it quickly with a smile he threw to the Beta and his apprehensive stance. “I don’t mind coming through for a patient in need. Besides, you said it yourself – nothing else fits your schedule.”

Nothing else fit Will’s schedule because he was still looking for ways to avoid it from happening. Unfortunately for him, Dr. Lecter was far too accommodating. _Caring_ felt like it could be the proper word, but Will wasn’t sure if the doctor deserved that adjective yet. Very rarely earned in his books.

Will stood still, five feet from the door he used to enter, and looked over the lavish room reserved for patients, the room that possibly doubled as a library for a man too wealthy for his own good. Old money, Will figured, and the taste to match, the pompous and antique kind. Dr. Lecter in his element looked like a sharply dressed gentleman, the kind born too rich, too privileged, pretentious, self-cantered, too good to talk to the lower class. An Alpha on a pedestal. Yet so far looks were deceiving. The doctor kept surprising him with how rooted close to earth he was with all that surrounded him, and especially with who he was. Will wasn’t so bold to claim every Alpha was born with a sense of entitlement, but living in a society as they did certainly installed such expectation in them. It was a hard thing to repress and harder to ignore. It came with being on top. It came with being dangerous.

The rustling of paper lured Will’s attention back to Dr. Lecter, and he noticed the man extending his hand and offering a fine stationary printed with words and signatures.

“What’s this?” Will walked over to take the parchment, the question coming out of him as a reflex, but the doctor did saved him reading time.

“Your psychological evaluation. You're totally functional and more or less sane. Well done,” Dr. Lecter smiled another lopsided grin, telling of the farce that just went through his mouth.

“Did you just rubber stamp me?”

The Alpha wasn’t fond of Will’s analogy but he took it in stride and offered his explanation. “I’m not sure therapy would work on you. Stealing into other minds has taught you how to fortify your own, and any attempt I’d have would only serve to aggravate you. That would be no help.”

“Jack thinks I need therapy,” Will deadpanned as his eyes trailed over the evaluation notice. A pinch of mockery coloured his voice because Jack couldn’t see what someone else saw in hardly two exchanges. Dr. Lecter’s words were accurate flattery to a point where Will couldn’t even be annoyed by it.

“The only thing Jack thinks is that he’s broken you, which that paper will put to rest. You don’t need therapy, Will, just someone who will listen.”

“He also wants me to work for him again. You were right about that,” Will thought back to their breakfast as he paced across the room to the rows of books, losing his sight among them. In hindsight, Will felt a little embarrassed for walking around in underwear and not bothering with anything more than a bathrobe. It was a rough morning.

“Oh,” a sound of interest left the Alpha and Will heard him make some steps. “And will you?”

“Do you think I shouldn’t?” Will asked, curious.

“Your work saved people.”

“Did it?”

Will turned and saw the doctor heading towards the two black leather armchairs set in the middle of the room. He unbuttoned his jacket and sat down, smoothing the crinkles on his trousers as he crossed his legs. He did not point towards the seat across or verbally offer it, instead leaving Will to wander anywhere he pleased. He didn’t say anything either, allowing Will to finish the words hanging on his parted lips.

“I don’t feel like a hero, Dr. Lecter. Sometimes I don’t even feel like I left that house. Stuck in a nightmare.” Will kept it vague, too afraid to speak proper. These were delicate issue of guilt and fear, unlike those he experienced two years ago. Those bordered on madness.

“You need a way out of these dark places. I can offer that.”

“What is this, a support group?” The sincerity of the Alpha’s efforts was crippling, and it only made Will more cynical.

“It’s whatever you need it to be,” he said and a staggering silence formed as Will trailed along the book shelves, more interested in volumes of foreign literature that speaking his mind. Dr. Lecter broke the quiet in a very direct manner. “Do you feel responsible for the condition of Abigail Hobbs?”

Will huffed through his nose and stopped, still facing the shelves. “Do you?” His asked, voice taut. “You were there too.”

“I’ve fantasized scenarios where my actions would have allowed a different fate,” Will turned to see the Alpha stare at his connected hands with absent mourning. “Scenarios in which I had reacted faster after hearing the gun go off, in which I took less caution in my entry.”

“You feel guilt?”

“Not nearly as much as you do, I suspect.” He looked up at Will from across the room, sharp and certain gaze set right on his evasive eyes that stood remarkably still for him. “You perceive her condition as a personal failure and wish to make amend elsewhere. That is why you agreed to Jack’s offer, isn’t it?”

Dr. Lecter formed it like a question but Will could tell the doctor was utterly certain in his words, and with good reason. Perhaps Will’s own face gave him away, the flinch in him that reacted more to the truth than the prodding gaze. He did not feel good under its scrutiny and he could feel them coming, the questions and statements sculpted with sharp pointy ends. This man’s perception breaking him down and settling right on the nitty-gritty core of it all.

“You have also orphaned her. Would you mind if we touch on that subject?”

“I would mind,” the answer was brisk. At least he cared to ask. Will could see an argument had he not, an argument that the Beta would have lost and clammed up even more. But that would make Dr. Lecter a poor therapist, something he certainly wasn’t.

“Another time then,” the Alpha said with a certain levity, no traces of malcontent to be found.

Hannibal could see he was overstaying his welcome. Working on Will Graham was going to be much like threading a needle, a fine and delicate job not worth pushing. There was definitely something the Beta was not eager to talk to about in regard to Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Guilt perhaps had a role in this story, but Hannibal felt there was something a lot more vicious underneath. He remembered well what he heard that day. He had also seen Will’s health records, in it details that would shape this Beta to be quite an interesting project. A dangerous project, considering Will’s affiliations to the FBI, but Hannibal was powerless to his own whims to resist, especially after a find that compelling.

The Beta agreed with much reluctance to call again tomorrow if he needed his hour. Hannibal escorted him out, mindful of his distance, and locked the private exit after him. He checked his watch and was quite relieved to find there was plenty of time for him to make dinner and have a nap. He set two alarm clocks, one to remind his when to lie down and the other to wake him up. It was crucial for a man with work such as his to work in sync with sleeping cycles for perfect restfulness. Pieces waited to be found and assembled. An exhibition was due soon, one for eyes worthy of its grandeur. Hannibal was quite proud of this one. It was his first foray into adaptation.

+++

The Hobbs case was about as lifeless as his body, but Jack wasn’t quite ready to call it closed. As soon as the evaluation was in his hands, he opted to take another trip down to Minnesota and take Will for the ride. The lack of bodies left behind had Jack scratching his head. Where are the bones? Did he eat all that meat himself? Was he eating them alone? Was his family in on it? Will was bothered by only one thing regarding the case, and that extended to the strange anonymous phone call the house received not too long before his arrival.

It wasn’t until it was too late that Will realised how badly he didn’t want to see that place again, any place at all that Hobbs lived and breathed in. Hobbs’s hunting cabin was the first point of their trip, a fresh new place for Will to feast his eyes on and it was simple, far too simple to look at the empty wooden table in the middle of the cabin and see the elder Hobbs scrubbing chemicals all over it after cutting up a girl into something compact and manageable. The cage of antler that was the second floor fell to close to Will’s nightmares and alerted Jack to his sudden change in mood. When they drove to the Hobbs residence, Will simply refused to enter after reaching the porch, no explanations given, and then turned back towards the car.

“Did you call Dr. Lecter after your first visit?” Jack asked, and Will had around fifteen minutes of time sitting alone in the car to come up with the best answer possible. Sometimes, though, Will could swear Alphas smelled lies. He was avoiding his promise to call Dr. Lecter and Jack was having none of his bullshit.

Will made some appointments, two or three. He came and went, tiptoed around the real problems and talked about the curtains, the high ceiling, the pictures on the walls and the books he recognized on the shelves. For some reason the doctor was willing to waste his time and talk about nothing, though Will suspected the FBI payroll couldn’t be _that_ good. The fact was, Hannibal Lecter was a lot less irritating than one would assume him to be. He had the tolerance of a saint for an Alpha, but it was only a matter of time before his patience would run out and questions of weight would flow.

Some things Will still didn’t want to talk about. He didn’t want to talk about the cold sweat he’d wake with every morning, the blasts of a gun echoing in his ears, or the sight of Hobbs that followed him into waking life. He didn’t want to talk about the guilt and shame that lay dormant in the hospital. And he definitely didn’t want to talk about Freddie Lounds’ speculative fiction that passed for news articles. Will’s name started popping up on her website, or so he heard _._

A full week of nothing later, Will skipped the call for a few days, thought he was doing Dr. Lecter a favour, really. A couple more and everyone, Jack included, would forget this whole _need for stability_ thing. Will wasn’t working on any case, and the chances of something big surfacing this soon were small.

But clearly not small enough. Jack Crawford interrupted his class, the one thing Will would claim was his true stability pole, for a trip around the sunny yet terribly remote fields of Maryland.

“He’s very proud of his work,” Will muttered, eyes darting over the scene.

Jack came to stand next to him, popping up his collar to shield from the chilling afternoon breeze. “Hobbs’ body is barely cold and we already have a copy cat, as you can see...” he left it at that and gestured towards the corpse, currently under the scrutiny of the forensic team of Price, Zeller and Katz.

It was a lovely early afternoon, sky clear and blue for as long as the eye could see. Birds chirped atop the lonely tree that cast shade over the table. Will didn’t know how else to call it but a cleverly decorated dinner table shaped out of a female body, skewered on the fine points of antlers that belonged to a trophy stag head. Zeller fought with crows that kept coming down from the tree and trying to feast from her opened wounds that exposed her missing lungs. A girl fitting the victim profile of the Minnesota Shriek down to a T.

Will found it hard to look too long at the scene; the mind of this criminal was a strange mystery he didn’t feel too comfortable stepping into.

“It’s not a copy cat,” Will turned his back to the crime scene, took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Another image tattooed on his eyelids to follow him home. He had quite the collection already. “He wants us to think that, but it’s not. It’s a mockery. Of the girl, of us... Both probably?”

“He’s clearly invoking details leaked on Lounds’ site. How is that not copying?”

“Hobbs loved the girls he killed, he didn’t want to mock and destroy them. This? This one thinks of her as a pig and us as idiots.”

“He’s a poor imitator, is that what you’re saying?”

“Not at all.”

Will threw another glance at the victim, the poor girl that probably did something meagrely wrong and now stood as an example of piggishness and their fate. A petulant reaction, but there was a purposeful touch of craft to her presentation. Perhaps even a purpose, but that was nothing Will could discern with his unwillingness to look further.

“An intelligent psychopath and a sadist, particularly hard to catch. You won’t find any traceable motive, no pattern either. He may never kill like this again.” Will debated with himself on what more he had to say, but he couldn’t erase the gut feel he got just from this one look. On one hand it made little sense to tell, it was nothing no one could prove, but that’s why Jack had him there, for those leaps in logic no one else could do. On the other hand, it was entirely unfound, and would not pass well with anyone. Evidence could not prove a claim like that.

Great gouts of violence, senseless and unmotivated, wild, crazy, frenzied, like a wild animal let loose from a tight cage – those were the only kinds of crimes that could be linked to a very certain set of people that could suffer from a much known affliction. This one had no such traces, but Will could not hold his tongue.

“Something about this feels like an Alpha to me, the kind that knows the system and squirms under it.”

Jack gave him a very sceptic side-glance. That piece of information was useless in the grand scheme of the law enforcement system, but that didn’t stop it from hitting a nerve. Nothing pissed Jack Crawford off more than Alphas dodging the system. It implied their status was higher than the average citizen, someone working in or with the administration, healthcare or law. It was such a delicate balance to begin with, and to have individuals who squirmed under its sight to commit atrocities was appalling to him. There was certain pride in Jack for never being able to understand the Alphas stuck on that side of the spectrum, and Will knew exactly why. Jack was bedrock, a solid foundation, an immovable force – a man like him with such confidence never feared the yearly psychological evaluation, a feat not a lot of Alphas could boast with.

So high they were on the proverbial food chain, revered almost as much as their Omega counterparts, yet the system of security set in place was nothing to laugh at from their high towers. Raw power, something Alphas had too much of, had to be in check, controlled and subdued, if not by the individual then by drugs that bordered the unethical.

Will’s empathy had him skiving through some Alpha minds that enlightened him only slightly on the matter. It was always about nature and the instinct to tear into each other that won in their heads, or that they had let win, unwilling to battle their desires any longer. A similar itch of recognition he felt when he watched the girl impaled on antlers, an extraordinary sense of superiority poured over a canvas of murder. But it wasn’t quite that black and white this time. It wasn’t savage at all. There was control there, cold-bloodedness. Not unheard of for Alpha criminals, not impossible, but certainly rare enough for Will not to make such a brash and quick association. And yet he did. New victims would enlighten him more, and Will shuddered at the ease of his thought. _Of course_ there’d be more. This one wanted to paint a picture and he was going to need a lot more strokes.

On their return in Quantico, Will skipped lunch, feeling a little too queasy after all he had to look at. The firing range felt like a good waste of time, something to take the edge of and fix his shitty aim. Two in one deal, it sounded like a good idea in theory. Right after his fifth shot the silhouette of the target, only vaguely human, now started taking on a shape, drab and lifeless at first but by the tenth shot he saw the face of Hobbs stare down the barrel of his gun.

Will yelped and stepped back as rapid blinks erased the spectre in his mind. His heart thrummed violently.

“Boy, you look like a man fit and ready to get back in the field,” the female voice that came behind him, cocky yet humorous, belonged to another Alpha he had managed to strike an amicable rapport with. “A teacher with a gun,” Beverly Katz smirked and leaned on the wall next to him, “who are you hoping to shoot? Rowdy students?”

“No one,” Will said as he set the gun down, “preferably ever again.”

She smacked him on the shoulder, a friendly but strong gesture coming from her. “Be glad you’re a Beta. Had I done that, I’d never see the end of psycho-prodding. I’d probably ask for the pills just so they could leave me alone,” her tone was light and humorous, unfitting for a joke so dark. The irony made it funnier and Will smiled for it. “Also your aiming is kind of terrible.”

“I worked on the force, you know.”

“And they let you walk around with a gun?”

“It was a long time ago. I used to be decent.” Will rubbed his shoulder absently, feeling the scar under his shirt. “Getting stabbed didn’t help.”

“Tends to be detrimental to one’s health, yeah,” she shrugged casually and smiled. “Whenever you want to brush up on how to be _decent_ , you give me a call. Not today, though. I’m here on business.”

Beverly had come down on Jack’s incentive to deliver news to Will he had already known, but now backed with science. The lungs of the victim were removed with surgical precision. The puncture wounds inflicted by the antlers fit the Hobbs case, as did the description of the girl, but other than superficial similarities, nothing else could tie this murder to the ones belonging to Hobbs. The fact that she was a Beta ment little. No clues were found on her, not a trace of foreign hair or a fraction of a print.  Zero evidence. Just like Will had predicted. A curious discovery, though, one they didn’t notice on the field were her teeth. The victim’s fangs were removed and replaced with a pair of animal fangs.

“We’re still waiting for lab results but Jimmy, he’s pretty good with animals and he said he’d put his hand in the fire if turned out to be anything other than a wolf’s fangs. Does that tell you anything?”

She waited, curiously staring at him as Will’s mind tried to place this new discovery. He couldn’t leave his assumption alone and felt hampered in his work. His focus was in all the wrong places.

“Maybe he wants us to know he’s an Alpha. Flaunting his colours.” Will scratched the back of his head. Beverly wasn’t buying it and neither was he. A weak-sauce assumption. Nothing better came to him because the silhouette of Hobbs still jerked with gunshot wounds in the back of his mind. The thought of calling Dr. Lecter seemed like a good option again.

+++

Will was surprisingly easy to convince, but a lot slower to show up. Hannibal was first to arrive at John Hopkins’ and reach Abigail’s room. Her condition remained stagnant in a room so cold and sterile, void of a loving parent’s touch or a friend’s good greetings. Will noticed it as well, the chilling emptiness, as he took cautious steps inside the room, quiet for all but the steady beeping rhythm of the machines. He had the look of an intruder on him, must have felt like one too, but he managed to get to her and sit on the empty chair Hannibal left on the other side of the bed.

“I can’t believe she doesn’t have any visitors,” Will said, sight locked on her face and the tubes pouring out of her mouth. His hand was restless on the armrest, like he wanted to reach out for her but couldn’t.

“Did you not read the headlines?”

“ _The family that preys together stays together._ ”

“Vulgar,” Hannibal commented with a frown and Will was quick to agree. “Yet entirely possible. Am I right to assume the investigation is on ice until her waking?”

Will confirmed with bitterness for the doctor’s words and said nothing else for the longest of time. Hannibal watched him watch the girl, watched him reach for the tissues in his pocket and wipe his nose several times, with each looking just a little more disappointed with himself. When his nose couldn’t hold it anymore and he sneezed, Hannibal made his move.

“Is it so bothersome to be around Omegas for you?”

“Just the nose,” Will muttered under his breath before he noticed the doctor’s attentive sight set on him. He was quick to pull himself up from the slouch he slid into and clear his throat. “Sneezing, sniffles, itchy nose, nothing I can’t live through. Heats are unbearable though, even when they’re under suppressants. Blood too.” The last detail he added with defeat.

Will went silent again. Hannibal noticed him hesitate with more words, clearly a topic he wasn’t used to discussing but wanted to. Something he had never found anyone to discuss it with. Shame, most likely. Hannibal settled to break the ice with an orange medicine bottle filled with pale round pills. He shook it to grab Will’s attention and threw it over the bed into the Beta’s lap.

“What’s this?” Will said after studying the label and its Latin words that meant little to him.

“Nothing your doctor would ever prescribe you,” Hannibal smiled, a humbling apology perfectly sewn into his features. “A very expensive brand of medication that aims to reduce the symptoms of repulsion.”

Will frowned and made a face, passing eyes between the label and the doctor. “First of, why do you have this and second, they don’t work on me. I’ve tried plenty of brands.”

“I used to take them,” Will’s brows rose in surprise and he mouthed a silently questioning ‘ _you_ ’that had him baffled. “My condition is far less severe than yours. At most I will sneeze due to copious amounts of blood,” Hannibal trailed eyes over the girl’s face and squeezed her hand before looking back at Will’s still shocked face.

“The medicine worked but I felt it was wasted on me and I stopped taking it long ago. I might as well give it to you so that you may try it out. It could be helpful.”

The Alpha observed with interest the clashing conflict on Will’s face. It was the thought that counts, and the consideration ment a lot to the man with those lovely blue eyes from which ice slowly chipped and melted. A new level of comradely and understanding unfolded to him, and layers of cynicism peeled away from his face to reveal soft features of gratitude that nevertheless sat foreign on his face, rarely shown. He may have had a very tasteless sense for clothes, but the Beta himself was awfully fair, a real treat for the eyes in that shabby frame. The desire to hear him speak of things that mattered to Hannibal grew.  

“I really don’t think this will work but... Thank you,” Will said, truly humbled even with his heavy doubt in the medication. He smiled and meant it, an action that drew Hannibal’s lips to twitch unconsciously into one as well.

“One every morning, with a meal.” Hannibal got up and tucked Abigail’s chilled hand under the sheets. “Now I do believe it’s time we continue our talk in the office. If I recall correctly, you complained about some troubles with work.”

“Ahh,” Will was slow to get up, fond eyes still lingering on the girl as he offered his excuse, a sound one for a change. “I haven’t eaten since noon. We’ll have our session tomorrow.”

“Then we will talk over dinner.”

The words left Hannibal so quickly and without a second thought, but with a moment of reflection he found himself quite liking the idea. That didn’t make it a good one. The Beta didn’t look like he was going to agree to something so sudden, but his laugh was dry and forced and came with the slightest touch of colour in his cheeks. Maybe it wasn’t such a long shot. The more second passed behind Will’s incredulous smile and shaking head, the more Hannibal though this was not going to be an impossibility. The Beta clearly had a liking for him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“What the hell kind of therapy is that, doctor?” Will spoke with amusement. He was still ready and willing to shut down the invitation with more firm words, but Hannibal was very quick to reply and seize this moment.

“We’ve already established therapy doesn’t work on you. And if we’re going to talk, we might as well do it over dinner. You’re hungry – so am I. I see no reason we shouldn’t kill two birds with one stone.”

Will considered quietly while Hannibal put on his coat. He took Will jacket off the rack and handed it to him with a questioning nudge. Will ended up agreeing, making it out like he was left choiceless.

Before they left the room, Will turned and spoke, more to himself than anyone else, “There should be some flowers here, maybe some balloons. Something to liven it up a little. It feels like a graveyard.”

Hannibal was ahead of him on that; another opportunity to warm the Beta up some more. He enjoyed that thought a lot more than he was ready to admit.

Loneliness was inherent in Hannibal’s world where so few understood, but he was never alone. He had a lot of labels for the people he interacted with, but not one yet for Will Graham who could beckon a smile out of the Alpha against his will. Quite a few opportunities came with this Beta and Hannibal was not blind to any of them. Not against any of them either, as dangerous as they were. Curing his long lasting ailment was one such possibility within Hannibal’s sight.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4, where a dinner is had, personal information gets shared, and strange looks are exchanged.

 

A man of theatre Will wasn’t. He had been to some puppet shows in his life but that never counted as high-brow entertainment. Open-air movie shows were more his thing. Theatre? Not an inkling of interest. And yet he felt like he was privy to a performance, a private one, one that captured his attention in ways it shouldn’t have. It was rude to stare, especially when he was supposed to be doing something else, but watching Hannibal Lecter move around his kitchen island as he prepared meat and sliced potatoes was akin to watching a performance in which the artist entertained as much with his creation as he did with the brush strokes that made it happen.

The doctor didn’t strike him as someone who might have been a professional chef, but still he asked, consciously avoiding talk of things that mattered. Will enjoyed the balance; an equal distribution of personal details made it easier for him to talk of things he usually wouldn’t with a stranger. That’s exactly what Dr. Lecter should be, a stranger, but the man was crafty with his words and he wormed himself into Will’s consciousness as something familiar and curious. Something worth the effort of socialising.

“I was an ER surgeon before I turned to fixing minds,” Dr. Lecter answered as he stripped a branch of rosemary leaves in one swift motion, and sprinkled them over the potatoes. The pills Will received made a lot more sense now; a surgeon needed a steady hand, not a runny nose. “My work in the kitchen is merely the result of practice. I suppose you could say I transferred my passion for anatomy into culinary arts.”

“I can’t believe you’re still single,” Will chuckled with his off-handed remark. He must get that a lot, and Will didn’t intend for his words to be more than that, an observation and a jest, but a genuine curiosity made him wonder in silence. Dr. Lecter’s house was large enough for a family, yet it felt very private and personal, tailored to his taste and his alone. It lacked the touch or scent of a mate, something Will was surprised to find out.

Hannibal humoured the interest he felt linger in the words as he turned and opened the oven. “I’m afraid I’m a little picky in that department of life.” He left out details of the numerous courting attempts he received, and still does. They bordered the obnoxious at this point in life, a grating experience he faked pleasure for.

Hannibal picked up the roasting pan with all the food neatly set and seasoned, and slid it into the oven. “I look for some very specific things in possible mates.”

He poured red wine for the two for them and offered Will a glass over the island. His guest’s face fell momentarily as he took the glass. “Right, repulsion,” Will regretted broaching the subject, finding it too private to poke at. The doctor, however, didn’t share his opinion.

“I was going to say mutual understanding,” Hannibal smiled, unperturbed, and offered more than was necessary, more than was ever going to be asked. The sincerity would have a positive effect on the Beta. “I don’t find heats troublesome, I simply have no reaction to them.”

“And you’re fine with that?” Will raised an eyebrow with his question as he tried the wine. It was as serviceable as it could be for someone used to whiskey.

Dr. Lecter being the brunt of ridicule at any point in life was a hard thing to imagine, but that often happened in a world where an Alpha with no reaction to heats was jokingly called _castrated_. It never felt very joking when Will heard it tossed around, and neither did the various associations with deserts that got slapped on infertile Omegas. Wanton malice slipped easily into those words, snide ridicule for defects no one could control.

“I wrote a paper on Social Exclusion,” the doctor began as he cleaned his countertops. “A part of my research dwelled on former convicts, Alphas mostly. Ever heard one speak of their aching hunger?” Will shook his head. “The bloodlust they felt as they tore a man in two was so much like the feeling they would have in presence of an Omega in heat. Such a thin line between passion and destruction. Both of these chemically triggered reactions are attributed to primitive sectors of our brain, a return to primal instinct where reason has no value or power.” Hannibal paused in his cleaning to smell the decadent grapes of his wine and have a sip. He looked to Will before continuing, “The absence of control is something I am less worried by. It makes life a lot less stressful.”

Will nodded at that, surprised by the volume of the answer and his side of things, but also surprised the doctor even found Alphas fit to talk to. Usually they were very unresponsive.

Hannibal felt it was fair he received as much in return, but he’d have to ask for it. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is there a particular reason you’ve forgone romantic overtures in your life?”

The doctor was delightfully frank, yet court to a point Will couldn’t hold it against him. That had the Beta draining his glass with a sour grin. The man had seen the inside of his home as well, and that was more than enough information even for the dimmest fool. Skipping straight to the point made the dancing around it impossible though, and Will found that a little unsatisfying.

“I prefer dogs to people,” Will spoke flatly, turning his sight away from those dark eyes, cold but curious. “They’ll love you until they die, they’ll love you after you die.”

Bitter comedy was not on the menu today and Hannibal had no intentions of swallowing the dish he was served. “A few failed relationships shouldn’t deter—”

“Doctor,” Will interrupted, unwilling to play guessing games with the man, not over this. If he wanted frankness that much, he could have it in its cold and unfriendly glory. “I’m a Beta and you know exactly where that puts me on the food chain. Two thirds of the population consider me a second rate replacement, an unfulfilling one at that.”

It was easy to deduce from his words which third of the population broke Will to the point of cynicism, or at least assisted in it. Chances were he was always like that due to his particular gift, the way he saw the truth in people with it. Hannibal chose not to say a word, instead leaving Will to find the words himself. He poured him a full glass of wine again. The Beta let them both drown in long moments of silence before he finally chose to finish what he had started, words hanging on his mind just waiting to be heard by something other than the walls of his skull. Perhaps he felt he owed as much. Perhaps the itch just needed a good scratch.

“New Orleans, both of us cops. I was ready to settle down with her, an Alpha, and we’ve had the talk. She agreed to carry a child. Made it sound like it wasn’t a problem for her,” Will paused as he felt the pang of that old familiar stinger. It wasn’t lodged there anymore, but it left a wound on his heart that never managed to heal up properly. There were stools around the island closest to him and Will took a seat with some resignation. He got this far, he might as well finish it. The audience was attentive and silent, but Will looked away and focused on a safe spot between the mixer and a coffee machine.

“I should’ve known better. We never bonded. Properly, I mean,” Will said with a tilt of his head in Dr. Lecter’s direction, somehow finding the need to stress that sex was had. “I thought it was a marriage thing. Turns out she was just feeling deeply _unfulfilled_ ,” the word left his mouth with such bitterness, the doctor could taste it from across the room.

Hannibal broke his statuesque silence with a simple question, “Was her family very orthodox?”

Will gave him a short-lived look with a crooked smile, as if he was humouring a terrible joke. “It was the south. You’re presumed orthodox unless whispered otherwise,” he sighed. “She wasn’t like that, it was a clean break. I was the one saddled with baggage, though. A heaping pile of resentment. Not for her, not for the Omega she’d one day make happy, but for myself. For having the gall.”

Hannibal suspected Will was old enough to still remember the old regime and the school system that took too long to reform. Its remnants could still be felt in the strongly traditional views of the bond between an Alpha and an Omega as something sacred and unopposable. Archaic teachings, yet rooting out noxious weed was never an easy job.

“The old system must have left a scar on you,” he said, a stock phrase Hannibal had used countless times with countless Betas that sat in his office, unhappy with their lives and tired of pity.

“You’ve heard this story many times, haven’t you?” Will asked, trying his best not to look morose, and Hannibal gave a simple, quiet nod. “We like to pretend everything’s a little better these days, a little more inclusive, but really it isn’t. If you’re not part of the normative bond, you’re either unnecessary or just plain unnatural. So what’s the fucking point? That’s your answer doctor, what’s the fucking point.”

Will rubbed his face with both hands, scolding himself for saying so much, but the torrent was hard to stop once he got the chance. That’s what Dr. Lecter was here for, wasn’t he? To listen. That was his job, and it was impossibly rare for Will to have found someone to willingly say this to. However, therapist or not, the doctor was an Alpha and he could not understand what it was like to constantly be told the same old trite phrases. To be taught that some things you could never live up to, that some things you simply could never have. _Stick to your own kind_ was easier said than done when hearts dictated people, not logic.

Relationships never stopped being a touchy subject. Any bond between either an Alpha or an Omega with a Beta was looked upon with pity. Pity about that bond, pity about that inferior choice of mate, pity they didn’t think it through and now they’re stuck together. Pity, pity, pity. Worst off were those who couldn’t even settle for a Beta, instead going for someone of their own kind. That wasn’t looked at with pity – that was looked at with hate, and Will had dealt with too many hate related crimes in his PD days to be comfortable thinking about it. It just made everything even sadder.

“I’m sorry, I said too much, I really don’t like talking about this. It’s needlessly depressing.”

“Then perhaps something a little lighter.”

+++

Will, in his chequered red shirt and dark jeans, stood out too much in Hannibal’s dining room. He predicted lavishness – ornaments of various ethnic origins, floral decor on the table, artwork on the walls – but not the air of a black tie event, many of which must have been held in this room. He could still get his tie, stuck somewhere at the bottom of his lecture bag, crumpled, but that’d feel more like an insult.

Hannibal did try to accommodate the awkward look his guest had by not putting his suit back on after cooking. First time he cared enough to do that in his own home.

“I’m clearly underdressed for this,” Will said with dry humour as he tried to help the doctor set the table. Hannibal was having none of that, and he used the slightest hint of command in his voice to get the Beta to back down and sit. Just the right amount that would get the message across yet wouldn’t upset him. And Will didn’t look upset, mostly just annoyed he wasn’t allowed to lend a hand.

What they had for dinner was a very simple and quick dish, roasted potatoes and pork coated with Dijon Marsala sauce, but the way Hannibal presented and served it made it look like a glamorous meal from a five star restaurant. The sat opposite each other and once again the doctor didn’t allow himself to begin before the guest had had his first bite. He watched attentively as Will cut into the meat with uncertain hands, debating the size of his piece twice over. In the comfort of his own home, he would have probably opted for a larger slice with a less dignified bite to it, but the Beta wasn’t home and he was being watched. Will’s eyes skirted away from the plate before he took the bite, through his lashes and at the Alpha sitting across. What made him such an interesting sight Will could guess, but the eccentricities of Dr. Lecter were hard to compile into a clear picture. The man held himself mysterious, an almost refreshing experience for Will, but that gaze he aimed was a little too easy to read as something it wasn’t, so Will didn’t. Not too much, at least. He allowed himself to enjoy it for the short moment it would last.

Sauce dripped down the fork as Will opened his mouth and the tip disappeared behind chapped rosy lips, only to slide out clean momentarily. He might have felt underdressed for the likes of Hannibal’s table, but Will was making an effort to come off polite with his dining manners. Hannibal certainly appreciated it, and a lot more. The Beta had a lot of appeal beneath his biting demeanour and unfriendly eyes. Finely chiselled features hid a softness in them, in his absent look when he thought no one watched, in the messy curls begging for foreign fingers to rake through and tame them. Wrapped in warm comfort of their silence, enjoying a wonderful home-cooked meal, the Alpha could sniff out Will’s satisfaction, his simple pleasure in the ambience. He quite liked it, and quite liked the look of it on Will. Hannibal found himself eager to have this flower of respect bloom between them even more, for Will to open and reveal himself with more candour. A thought almost as tempting as the Beta taking his newly received medication that would fix the blood streaming beneath that pale skin.

The subject they broached in the kitchen had the Alpha thinking, dwelling on possibilities he only glossed over before. Hannibal needed to approach the proper subject first, hear Will’s thoughts on matters close and dear to the Alpha. Only then would the possibility have a chance of become a likelihood.

Will chewed and his eyes closed as he savoured the loin of a pig Hannibal had caught nosing around the wrong place in the wrong hour. He smiled a grin with a gleam of teeth sharp, satisfied with the opportunity to show it, and with his guest’s enjoyment.

“Was the wait worth it?” Hannibal asked and got a hum in return, a slow shake of the head with eyes still closed. “I’m glad,” he said, finally picking up his silverware to start his meal. He kept still a watchful eye on the Beta and his lips, they way his tongue swiped over them to catch stray drops of sauce. He pulled his tongue back, almost spooked when he noticed the host watching, and went for the napkin.

“It’s great actually,” Will said before tapping his mouth clean, tense from the awkward moment he felt he was caught in. He threw out a question, random seemingly, but the exquisite taste did prompt it. “Tastes different. Free range?”

“Yes,” Hannibal grinned. “I insist on it, as well as an ethical butcher. It improves the taste.” Will tilted his head curiously at the last part. “I find the meat a little acidic otherwise.”

Will couldn’t help the short burst of laughs that left him, but he did cover his mouth for courtesy’s sakes. “The pig is, uh, bitter about being dead,” he shared his insight and was glad to see it drew a chuckle out of the Alpha.

“Something like that,” Hannibal said and let them enjoy a few quiet moments to ease their hunger before he tackled important issues. “You mentioned in your call that Jack had you doing field duty today. Was it something serious?”

“Not the best conversation to have over diner,” Will smiled briefly before enjoying another bite. “There was a murder. Someone invoking Hobbs.”

“A copy cat? So soon?”

“For lack of better names... but no, I wouldn’t call them a copy cat,” Will corrected. For all the manners he tried to uphold, he was a little sloppy with talking before he had swallowed.

“The devil is in the details. What did this perpetrator do wrong?”

“Nothing,” and Will had to pause for a drink to clear his mouth, eager to bounce thoughts almost as much as Hannibal was eager to hear them. The doctor was a lot better at hiding his desires, though. “It was never an imitation to begin with, more like an homage. In a way it mocks the progenitor with its complexity, positions itself above Hobbs’ work. This one wants to tell us he’s better and he’s not afraid to mock.”

“Where did he get the details of the Hobbs killings?”

“Lounds’ article,” Will paused between bites, a possibility unfolding in his mind, “A fan of hers, possibly? Took what she had to offer and turned it into art. I’m having a hard time imagining someone being a fan of her work, even a serial killer. Though she is one to have first scoops.”

Hannibal enjoyed every word that left Will’s mouth like a velvety ode sung to him personally. Only a piece of the poem presented itself today, a lot more left to unearth, but he figured quickly what hampered Will in his profiling.

“Have you begun reconstructing the copy cat’s fantasies?”

Will stared at his plate for a long time, over chewing his food, before he sat down his utensils, swallowed and looked directly at Hannibal who had just the fraction of a second to hide how please he was.

“I don’t want to talk about what happened at the Hobbs’ house, but I need to. It’s obstructing the work I have.”

Hannibal rose from his seat and picked up the carafe of wine. He walked over to Will’s side and refilled his drink with one hand and gripped his shoulder with the other in a sign of comfort and agreement.

“Tomorrow then, or whenever you find it fitting,” Hannibal said and the Beta visibly relaxed knowing he was going to have this meal to himself, knowing the doctor wont broach the subject now. Will looked up and nodded thanks, a gleam of awareness in his eyes that knew Dr. Lecter was, if not entirely sure, then probably on the right track as far as his predicament was concerned.

+++

In the late evening hours, Hannibal drank his tea as he looked over the dates he had written down in his private notes. The dates were batched, but every ten days one date stood out, coloured in red and circled for emphasis.

The off chance Will didn’t stick to his schedule of medication was a possibility. That was part of the reason why he didn’t mention the recommended intake was one to two pills a day. The second he was happy the provide himself, but also Will would have raised questions at that. An uncommon practice he would certainly notice as someone who had gone through a great deal of medication for his ailment. But then again, that was not what those pills were for.

Hannibal eyed the first date coloured in red. He had plenty of time to acquire the medication he still lacked, but the question was how to use it. He closed the notebook and finished his tea. The notes were laid to rest in a drawer of his desk, a lock and key guarding it from unwanted eyes. An opportunity would present itself, that much Hannibal knew. The Beta grew increasingly more comfortable with his presence, a simple thing to exploit in service of his goal.

But the doctor couldn’t find it in himself to concentrate on the issue with no firm solution. Instead, his mind wondered to Will leaving after dinner and shaking his hand, earnest thanks with the hint of a smile sewn in the warmth of those tired blue eyes. The Alpha couldn’t wait to show them more, to dazzle them and spark insight in that perceptive mind. Already he considered what else to leave for the profiler, what other poem he could sing him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to fuck the world up a little. Turns out I didn't have to look far to do it. *eats hat in frustration*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5, in which Will confesses some of his sins to the doctor, and the doctor finds something very interesting lingering on the Beta's skin. Also spicy redheads.

 

He dreamt again of the little details that reminded him of the man, more warped and dangerous with each sleep. The hunting cabin with all his belongings, his essence etched into the walls like it was a part of him. No exit though, and all the walls were covered with jagged bones and antler, pointing inwards, inching closer. The man was there too, or what was left of him, lifeless and pale but the lips moved with words suspended in airless lungs that never quite made a sound, yet felt accusing. The wooden walls were coming down around him, over him, shrinking as he turned with panic, skin catching against sharp ends and tearing, bleeding, piercing through meat and bone and eyes. The screams were his own and when he went blind with pain and damage, the black shifted to white and he recognized his ceiling.

Will dripped with chilling sweat, sheets soaked with residues of his nightmare. The corner of his sight was plagued with a man dead and pale resting against the wall, and Will ignored him as best as he could for the apparition it was. He pushed himself up with quivering arms and stared ahead towards his heap of waking dogs that stirred around a heater. Something woke them up and they rushed towards Will, who felt his throat dry and raspy. He didn’t remember using it. The pack greeted him with their worried barks and licks and he didn’t have the heart to send them off the bed. The sheets had to be changed anyway. Solid warmth, something living and breathing and warm under his hands and fingers was what Will needed to banish what crawled out of his nightmares. Never truly gone, though. Always on his mind. Hard not to be, considering what happened.

Through his already routinely restless morning and watery cups of coffee, Will remembered the gift his therapist left him. It may have been just a way for the Alpha to get rid of things without wasting them, but the gesture stuck with Will. The thought of being on Dr. Lecter’s mind over something they hadn’t even discussed prior was as pleasant as it was unsettling. The man was making a noticeable effort reaching out to Will and it left its mark, made him a lingering thought on the Beta’s mind, now even more so.

Yesterday was quite a show of bragging rights, though Will had a suspicion the Alpha didn’t intend it that way. He had one too many opportunities to steal long looks of the doctor’s back. Broad shoulders moved with purpose as white cotton outlined the physique hidden underneath, all the while he split bone with a butcher’s knife to prepare their meal. Tantalizing, much like his face. The Alpha had a way of looking at people that could strip defences. _Could._

Will was in the midst of making breakfast when this reverie of yesterday hit him. A snide chuckle left him when he remembered some of Dr. Lecter’s words. _Mutual understanding_ , he said and Will couldn’t help to roll his eyes now. The man was clearly picky and meticulous in his choices, that much the look of his house alone told Will, but he did not for a second believe a socialite like Dr. Lecter was every really alone. The man impressed far too easily to have his bed be truly cold. With that, Will’s thoughts reached a point of indecency and he left them there, not even willing to play the spectator anymore. A onetime slip, touched by generosity, nothing more.

Will dry-swallowed a pill before digging into his morning meal of eggs and bacon. It paled in comparison with the same simple meal the doctor had made for him some weeks ago. He really should try to get that recipe.

With another cup of coffee in hand, Will settled on his porch to grade some papers under the morning sun as his dogs ran wild and carefree across empty fields that surrounded his house. It looked to be a quiet day, relaxing and sunny but with the slightest biting chill to remind of the season approaching. But as Will had learned recently, looks were often deceiving even to a man like him, and not even ten minutes passed before distraction barged in on his property with wheels and a red coat of paint. A head of curls equally vibrant on the morning sun’s glare popped out of the car and smiled with sharp bright teeth. The woman’s chic clothes gave way to her identity before she even made any introductions, the imposingly high pumps and forest green coat that turned into a skirt below the waist.

“You’re a hard man to find, Mr. Graham,” she approached with slow yet nonchalant steps towards his porch, uneven earth barely a bother to her shoes. Will’s eyes drifted from her to the papers he still kept checking. “My name is Freddie Lounds,” she came to the railing and offered her hand over it, a slim one with finely manicured fingers.

“I know who you are,” Will said and snapped shut his folder full of papers.

He did not shake her hand and debated between quick retreat back to his house or hearing her out, if only for a second. He doubted he’d take much more. Miss Lounds made a name for herself as a sensational tabloid journalist, the kind of click-bait Will could barely stand to read. Exploitation. A living was a living, most would say, but there was no accounting for taste. She had a reputation, though, a very wild one that extended to her acts of mimicry. A simple Beta, just another bland cup of coffee, but she was known for having the fiery tongue of an Alpha and the persuasion skills of an Omega. Will felt the details were greatly exaggerated by burned victims of her articles or informers selling excuses to their superiors, but he wasn’t feeling all that interested in finding out their truth.

She kept on the facade of a smile as she retracted her hand. “Quite some rumours going around about you. You’re either psychic or you know psychopaths well enough to be worrisome.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

“Yes, actually I was wondering if you wanted to shed some light on a couple of things I intend to publish very soon.”

“Not interested,” Will got up, shoved the folder under his arm and grabbed his half empty cup.

“You should be, it concerns your failure to save the life of one Abigail Hobbs. Any comment or insight you’d like to share on that?”

Will hoped the moment before he turned towards the door and locked his house wasn’t enough for Lounds to see his face go pale with shock. He should have figured it was only a matter of time before that news leaked out, before someone wanted to cash in on another’s misfortune.

“I’m here to help you Mr. Graham,” she raised her voice from behind the closed door. “I could use your perspective, otherwise my article won’t do you any favours.”

She never cared for doing anyone favours with her writing; the dirtier the better. But clearly Lounds couldn’t resist the chance to fish even deeper. There was no response and a moment later the striking sound of heels left his porch.

That brief encounter cemented the rest of his day at the bottom of the toilet. It managed to stick with Will even after Jack pulled him out to the lab to look at corpses.

+++

Some patients were more interesting than others. Will Graham was currently in a category of his own, but Hannibal 3 o’clock was slowly revealing to be a lot more interesting than previously considered. Another individual disgruntled by life, but she was quick to reveal zest underneath her words – a true artist with a few, some would say, unhealthy fixations and many allusions in her words to things she probably took to the extreme several times already. It crossed Hannibal’s mind to see if he could nurture one such fixation, if he could point it places and make a bigger game out of it. He started by moving her scheduled appointments to something later in the day.

His afternoon that day was empty, to a point. In the dead silence of his office where he read Freddie Lounds’ latest piece of slander, Hannibal heard the entrance door open and close in an hour reserved for no one. No knock came on his office door, and opening them revealed Will sinking into one of the waiting room chairs. He greeted Hannibal with a nod.

“You’re early,” Hannibal said, checking his watch for show, “a full hour and a half.”

“Yeah,” the Beta answered simply, staring ahead at the exit like he might bolt for it any second. “I can wait.”

“You can come in,” the offer caught Will off-guard. “You’ve caught me on a rare and quiet day. Please,” Hannibal stepped aside and pulled the office door open. He watched Will slump out of his chair with fatigue, and defeat was evident in his shoulders when he walked by, hands tucked in his pockets. “Has the anticipation of our talk held you in such a foul mood?”

Will avoided sitting down, instead resting his back against one of the column that held the upper floor of his library. “A little this, a little that,” the Beta took his glasses off to rub at his eyes. He didn’t put them back on.

Hannibal leaned against his table, gently prodding the subject. “What spoiled your day?” He asked as he tried to catch Will’s gaze. It wasn’t so much avoidant as it was fixed on a point of his wall that Hannibal couldn’t reach.

“Do you read TattleCrime?”

“There have been occasions.”

Will stretched his lips in a long forced smile. “Her next article is going to be a fun one.”

He didn’t say anything more than that and Hannibal excused himself to make them some drinks, the mood of his visitor being too dour to be of help. The Alpha would be damned if he let the ghost of Miss Lounds spoil the story, no, the confession he was yet to hear. He made them some tea, and he sweetened Will’s with a big dollop of honey to mask the taste of a pulverised pill.

“Lemon balm and camomile,” he said as he offered Will a steaming cup. The Beta waited all that time in the same position, against the same pillar. He took his cup and nodded thanks.

“Do you often serve drinks to your patients?”

“Not often. I don’t have dinners with them either,” Hannibal poured himself a cup and leaned against the table. He inhaled deeply the mix of fragrances in his tea cup, admiring the perfection of the blend, and then he looked at Will with the hint of a smile in his eyes. “Nor do I have conversations with them.”

“ _Cool_ therapist,” Will grinned playfully at him.

“I think prefer the term _unconventional_.”

Will’s smile lingered as he looked down at his cup, and long silence ensued. Hannibal had a sip and left the tea to cool by his side and he waited. He waited and watched Will cool his tea, try a few sips then cool some more before he could have a proper taste. Words poured out slowly after that, washing against the silence in small waves.

“In the official report, the one I gave,” another pause and another sip, “it says I shot Hobbs five times, two bullets missed, and then another five because he came at me with his knife.” Eyes drifted shut for a few moments before he continued.

“He was a Beta, not an Alpha. That should have been their first clue. Also the forensics would have said otherwise, but no one cared to check or think. I knew no one would. The bad guy was dead so who cares if the guy who shot him lied about some details. Here’s a commendation!” Will’s voice was heavily sardonic. He went quiet again, the warm cup pushed against his lips as he smelled the soothing fumes.

“I wasn’t asked to back up your version,” Hannibal added. “Which is good because our versions wouldn’t match.” Hannibal remembered well what he heard, his first true sign of interest.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Will tried to grin, lighten himself up a little, but it came out glum and forced. “Hobbs dropped the knife when the first three bullets hit him,” he paused to sip again, “he fell back against the counter and slid down to the floor. The moment I pulled the trigger I couldn’t stop pulling it, not even when he was down.” He stopped again, this time to empty his cup completely, and he peeled off the column to set the cup down. He stood next to Hannibal and said with a low voice, “It frightens me.”

“Fear that it will happen again,” Hannibal supplemented with a tone equally low and soft, watched the Beta swallow a lump down his throat. “Fear that there are more people in this world whose death would make you feel just.” Will gave a single nod to approve his words, face already twisting with concern, and Hannibal tested the waters with another thought. “Powerful.”

The Beta balked and Hannibal had seen shame on him already to recognize it hiding under his mortified gaze. “The only guilt I carry is for the girl, but none for what I did to him. It doesn’t feel right,” Will retreated from the table and the intimate atmosphere of their whispers. He put a lot of distance between them as he drifted towards the tall windows that reflected the room in the setting darkness waiting outside. “I have nightmares because of it. I see his shadow everywhere. The thought of getting a psych eval had me thinking the worst.”

Will stopped by the curtains, eyes glued to the distant street lights as the glimpse of his own reflection stared back at him. His silence was telling to the Alpha, a sign he didn’t want to speak of it anymore, but that was not how progress was made. Progress in this case being the simple pleasure of hearing one’s thoughts and struggles with what most would call their inner darkness, the killer that lay present but dormant in all living things. The Beta was more familiar with that part of him than he let on, and that was probably why he feared it so. Hannibal did not foresee hearing that tale so soon, but the one that was started he was more than happy to assist to the finish line. He stood up and made his way towards the window.

“Whatever you wish to say is subjected to doctor-patient confidentiality. Nothing will leave this room,” Hannibal assured him as he took slow steps towards the Beta, drawn in with magnetism, anticipation rising. He could see Will’s shoulders visibly relax, and then sag when he asked, “How did it feel to pull the trigger, Will?”

“In that moment,” Will’s reflection started looking foreign and malicious, something he couldn’t recognized. “In that moment I didn’t just feel powerful, I felt alive. But reality was quick to settle in and...”

Will swallowed a bitter dry lump of nothing, recoiled by the memory of how sudden was the loss of that heat in his chest, of that short lived burst of energy and controlled fury that spurred him to end a life he spent weeks studying, familiarizing to uncomfortable levels that just served to erase it more easily from this world. It was only the smell of spilled blood and a dying girl’s whimper that brought him back, however little he managed to do for her afterwards. A poor thank you.

“You understood Hobbs,” Hannibal moved in closer, “You understood what he did and why he did it. That is why you killed him. In its way it’s beautiful, to give voice to the unmentionable.”

“I should have stuck to fixing boat motors,” Will muttered.

“Machines are predictable, easy to solve. Minds prove a challenge,” Hannibal set Will’s words aside to explore later.

His nose was terribly sharp, even for an Alpha, and it wasn’t the first time he noticed the smell of motor oil clinging to Will’s clothes. He didn’t feel it now, but curiosity pulled him a step closer to the Beta. Something underneath that ghastly cologne of his beckoned Hannibal, but he stayed his feet, respecting proper socially-acceptable distances between people. Will turned his head as well, when he felt him creep closer, but his look was that of ambivalence towards what was yet to come from Hannibal’s mouth. Talking to Will was always a charm, the man so finely tuned to all that Hannibal said and how he said it. Never a dull moment.

“It wasn’t the act of killing that got to you, it was the fact that killing him felt good. The inevitability of there being a man so bad that killing him felt good. Am I correct?” Hannibal waited patiently for the final confession, the appeal of it coaxing him to edge a step closer.

“I-I liked killing Hobbs,” the confession was a defeating whisper, weighting heavily on Will’s conscious, his face a canvas of regret and disapproval. The fear in him was real, Hannibal felt the notes of it in the air around him, sudden and in waves that pulsed with the heart’s rhythm. The Beta’s fear was in the system and what it could do to him if this got out, or out of hand. A preposterous fear, if Hannibal was asked. Will did not belong to the critical group that would be treated with medication. Repeating attempts, though, were a valid fear, one Hannibal only wished to exploit.

“A normal reaction,” Hannibal said with a faint smile and his hand landed on the Beta’s shoulder in a show of support. “You worry needlessly if you think I’ll report something like that.”

Will turned his head back, no less shaken, and rubbed a palm over his face, sighing in a nervous laugh while building walls around his problems yet again. Hannibal was about to say something a little lighter, something to defuse Will’s rigid nerves and offer an exit from the topic that weighted on him. He couldn’t, though, instead breaking the comfortable distance set between them. His nose led him, overpowered by curiosity, and he leaned in just so, just close enough to feel a curl of hair touch his nose as his nostrils flared. Too close and too blatant, but it was too late for Hannibal to retract and undo the situation. His nose caught what it was after, though it took him some time to figure out what it was. Will’s aftershave was not the best and his dog-loving environment clung to him, but beneath all that something pulled at Hannibal’s nose, something riding on the waves of fear he felt a moment ago. A sickly sweet scent, feverish almost, hiding under layers of skin, foreign and unknown. Hannibal couldn’t catalogue it anywhere and his mouth watered from the strange allure it came with. The thought of peeling skin back to find the source crossed his mind like a pebble skipping over water, but certainly nothing he would act on. The situation had to be salvaged as much as possible because Will turned, eyebrow quirked in surprise to find the Alpha looming over his back, too close for comfort.

Hannibal pulled back his hand and upheld the neutrality on his face as Will stepped away an inch. Before he could find the words to question his therapist, Hannibal knit his brows critically and said, “Poor choice of aftershave. This one suits you terribly.”

Will laughed nervously, stepped further back and sniffed at collar of his shirt. He shrugged with performed nonchalance, but what he heard bothered him. The sweet notes were gone from the air, or maybe he just stepped to far back, but Hannibal’s nose was too good for that now that he had it filed, lingering on his mind like the finest perfume.

“It can’t be that bad. I keep getting it for Christmas.”

“Difficult for me to avoid,” the doctor smiled apologetically and moved away, far away back to his table, feeling himself oddly volatile, heart picking up the pace for reasons he couldn’t place. “I have a very good nose, I’m afraid.”

They left the topic of Hobbs alone, Hannibal choosing not to bother Will with it for the time. What was left of their hour, they padded with some back and forth about family. Will revealed his skills with boat motors came from his father, a Beta who raised him for most of his life. In turn Hannibal revealed his lack of living parents, the reason for their demise remaining unsaid, but Will got the clue it was not a peaceful end. The talk opened possibilities to question the Beta about the mother he omitted with his short but insightful stories of youth. He claimed not to know her as she was a person missing from his life and that his father spared few words about her, other than the fact that she was just another Beta. But Hannibal had seen Will’s medical records in detail, from his blood type to details regarding his parents, and some of those details did not coincide with Will’s stories. It drove him to conclude that Will didn’t know or care enough to check. He didn’t know what his mother was and perhaps he didn’t even know what he went through as a child.

“Tell me,” Hannibal asked as Will was leaving, beckoned again by curiosity two-fold. What truly was on his mind was to invite Will once again for dinner, but that much he managed to restrain from, instead asking the right questions that would shed light on Will’s strange predicament. “Have you ever tried seeking therapy for your curious case of repulsion?”

“No,” Will was quick to answer. “Useless for me. I went through one as a child, but it didn’t work.”

“What kind?”

Will shrugged. “I was too young to remember. But it was the reason father and I lived on welfare for quite some years,” Will seemed unperturbed by the unearthed ghosts of his past. He was old enough to have come to terms with it long ago. “We managed well with what we had.”

Having his suspicions confirmed, Hannibal bid Will a good night instead of the invitation still hanging in the periphery of his thoughts. A smile and a nod before leaving was all he got in return from the Beta who kept firing mixed signals throughout the evening; at once avoidant and receptive.

It wasn’t something Hannibal would call hard, but peeling his eyes off the Will’s back and closing the office door took some convincing. It could almost be considered rude, and that was his tipping point. Burned inside his nose was the scent he felt, and dwelling on it quickly pulled apart its mystery. He was no stranger to courtship, but Omegas had a strikingly different set of pheromones, lot less opaque and a lot more potent. Not one he ever found that pulled or interested him, but that was probably the missing ingredient because he did find Will very interesting, engaging even, and quite fair to look at even with the glaring flaws Hannibal would rarely be lenient over. But he was lenient, because Will Graham saw what others didn’t and that ment everything. It felt strange for Hannibal to have been put in that position. It wasn’t one he was used to. Carnal allure he was no stranger to, but this unique curiosity was a kind Hannibal hadn’t felt for another in long, long years. He did not lie about the qualities he looked for in mates, and Will... Will was in a unique position to offer exactly that and so much more.

But emotions, they muddied waters, they toyed with reason. Poor Will wasn’t destined to have the best of time under the doctor’s care, but what was a little suffering for the sakes of self improvement? Hannibal trusted himself too much to possibly feel endangered in his little experiment over something as simple as affection. Desire.

Too long he had made a game of defying nature and subverting primitive instincts. What was it to defy a little more?

+++

The dogs lined up, tails wagging, and waited for the brown paper bag to reveal sausages from their favourite butcher. Often Will felt like he spoiled them too much, but the animals knew how to repay him tenfold with their love. Most of all they knew obedience, and Will appreciated coming home every evening to a house in order and no slippers chewed to bits.

One gourmet sausage for every dog – Will would throw them one at a time and they never fought over them. The dog he aimed at was the dog that caught it and the others simply waited for their turn, for the alpha of their pack to throw them their treat.

The simplest thought in the wrong direction was all it took for Will to recall Dr. Lecter’s office and the way the Alpha broached into his space to do something so banal as smell him. He felt him linger there long before he turned, and he felt him lean in with a cascade of shivers that went down the length of his spine. Will bit down on his lip and threw the next sausage randomly, but the next dog in line caught it with a jump to the side. There was some anger in the Beta aimed at himself. He shouldn’t have let the moment play out. He should have turned immediately. Now he was stuck with it, the memory, all for the sakes of having just a little something for himself, a little thing to feel good about. It had been so long, Will forgot how good it was to experience desire. To be desired. He took that moment for what it wasn’t and ran with it, knowing damn well Dr. Lecter couldn’t have had such intentions in mind. And he didn’t, of course he didn’t, not a man like him. A man of elegant taste and lifestyle that shouldn’t be as amusing company as he was. Handsome and intricate company that could warm Will’s memory for days. Someone unafraid of the horrors he worked with. Understanding.

The memory of the doctor’s words right after drew a lingering sour smile from Will. _Sad, Graham, very sad._ Pity didn’t suit him. He hated the feeling. Instead he considered buying different aftershave to avoid inconveniencing his therapist’s nose.

Overwhelmed by another reverie he promised himself he wouldn’t indulge in, Will forgot to throw the last sausage. It wasn’t until Winston bumped his leg with his nose and whined softly that he noticed.

“I’m so sorry boy,” Will dropped to the dog’s level to ruffle him up after handing over the sausage. “Lost in some wishful thinking.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this yesterday, but the trailer rendered me uncooperative.  
> Next up, the non-con drug use gets a little more blatant and creepy. Also murders and stuff.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6, in which a new player is glimpsed, the non-con drugging gets a little more creepy, Will has severe sleeping issues he wont talk about, and progress is made on a case.

 

She rarely spoke while addressing the other person directly, this time eyes stuck on her hands as she cracked each knuckle of her fingers separately. Not one to waste eye contact, she looked at people only when it mattered. When she wanted to make sure she was heard.

“I finally took on a new tenant. Bills were piling up. Was that a good idea?”

“Do you feel ready?”

“Well... yes, I think I am. I had to be. Bills.” She looked out the window, battling the urge to pull her knees up on the chair. He wouldn’t like that. “She’s not like the previous one. She’s a Beta, for starters, and he was—he is...”

Her thoughts trailed off and she smiled, lost in memories. The Omega had a pattern, a fact she was pretty sure the man across her already figured. It didn’t take either of them long to recognize a common ground. “I wish I could show them somewhere. I get better with every new attempt.”

“That wouldn’t be very smart.”

“I know, I know.” DNA was a tricky thing. “I’m just very proud of my work.”

“Work only the artist can enjoy is no less valuable. I would say it can be an even more enriching experience.”

“A beauty reserved for my eyes only,” her eyes trailed the ceiling as her lips stretched into a full smile. A connoisseur of fine arts like him understood. He’d be able to appreciate it. “I bet you’d like to see them.”

“I would.”

 “Only possible if you’re to become a part of the ensemble.” She chuckled. Her offer was, unfortunately, in jest.

“How do you choose?”

The Omega looked at him, a grin far less pleasant resting on her face. She knew exactly why he asked. It made her proud in a way, to grab his attention like that. But cheep flattery was not something he was interested in, so she gave him exactly what he asked for instead.

“Alphas can be very dangerous. You know that better than me.” She chewed her thumbnail for a moment, succumbing to old nervous ticks, but stopped as soon as she became cognizant of it. He didn’t like that either. “I rely on what I see, but it’s not always good to trust the eyes.” She touched the tip of her nose several times for emphasis and looked right at him, “I have a very good nose, maybe even better than yours. Tells me things a nose shouldn’t. Tells me when to stay away.”

She relaxed back into her chair, looking out the window once more with a dreamy look. “I’m looking, though. It’s been a while. I’d hate to get rusty.”

It was the end of her hour when she asked, “Why did you move my schedule,” as she was putting on her coat, all but ready to leave.

“I want you to meet someone.”

Banking on an honest answer felt like a folly, but what she got certainly sounded like one. “You can’t force art,” the Omega narrowed her eyes but felt like she was speaking in vain. He already knew that.

“Not force, only suggest.”

“We can work with that,” she put on her gloves. “But I’m very picky.”

They both smiled and said their courteous goodbyes, until next time.

+++

An alarm didn’t wake him up that morning, but the barking of his dogs, frantic and loud. Down stairs his phone rang, and in the confusion Will almost stepped off the roof. He panicked and backtracked until the window he left open stabbed him in the back. His dogs were there, heads stuck out, incessant with their worried barking. The smallest one made it on the roof and he shuffled around his feet. Will had an extra large cup of coffee that day. If he dreamt he did not remember, but cold he did wake up, a factor from standing outside barefoot and on his own roof for god knows who long. _Stress_ , he kept repeating to himself, _stress_. What else could it be?

Work was piling up on both sides. Headaches didn’t faze him anymore; they felt like a necessity of the life he was leading – sleepless and overworked. An aspirin bottle became a regular in his pocket. He never complained though, took it like some sort of punishment he felt he deserved for that poor girl and the death he still felt satisfied over.

Mornings were filled with tests being graded and lecture planning, afternoons reserved for Jack and cases he wanted Will to look at. Just yesterday the Beta worked on a grisly case of children murdering their own parents under heavy indoctrination by their captor. His relief came in the doctor’s office, even though he chose not to mention his roof escapade.

“You are angry,” Hannibal made a simple observation and left it there for Will to fill the blanks.

“I can’t help them, the kids. I can’t help them get back what they gave away.”

“You’ve stopped families from dying, children from abduction. It should feel like a victory.”

“Barely,” Will looked inconsolable as he sat down and finished his cup of tea. He made a face. The tea had a bitter bite that day. “They have no one left. Nothing. The one whose family we did save won’t go home that easily, if at all.”

“And that upsets you.” Will nodded, eyelids heavy. In his mind, he wasn’t living up the atonement the job was supposed to provide him with. “Do you often find yourself relating to concepts of lost family?”

Will laughed briefly, tried making it sound flippant but it came out more upset than careless. “I have poor concepts of family. It’s a strange subject I barely relate to.”

“Yet you’ve created a family for yourself.”

“A pack of strays,” Will fought a yawn. Warm fondness coloured his words as well as his eyes, betraying Will’s true feelings. He did consider them family, however unorthodox. “Thanks for feeding them while I was away,” he quirked a short-lived smile.

Hannibal enjoyed his foray through Will’s home, undisturbed. The dogs were fairly obedient when food was presented to them. Poor house guards, but he could see clearly Will loving each one of them for the company they gave him. They were well taken care of, and had their own private heater. The house he explored was smaller than his own, but compact, much like the man that lived in it. Stacks of books, some job related and some recreational, fishing rods on his wall and a whole table filled with lure crafts spoke of the Beta’s interests. The bed was a mess, but other than the slight clutter of sheets and towels, the house was neat. A little crammed and chaotic in some corners where tool boxes laid open, but otherwise orderly and arranged, familiar, much like the mind of the person it belonged. Habitat painted a picture of us all, and so did the liquor cabinet. Half the bottles resting inside were empty and dusty, old reminders of times of excess. Or desperation. A comforting friend in those days that alarmed Alana, back when Dr. Lecter was just a shapeless black spill on the profiler’s mind.

Hannibal had let the dogs out for a run and spent most of his visit sitting on Will’s bed. A test of strength he wouldn’t say he failed, but he had to dig deep crescents into the palms of his hands to keep still in a room so deeply embedded in Will’s scent. His nose worked too fine, a helpful thing but often a detriment as well. Will didn’t change his sheets, clearly in a rush to leave. They were still damp with the sweat of a restless night, an appallingly inciting odour for Hannibal’s nose. It would have been so easy to reach for them, crumple with his fist and burry his nose in it. It would also be an unseemly act, so the Alpha did no such thing and he sat there until he couldn’t any longer.

Memories stayed fresh in Hannibal’s mind, each locked in their own little box, and this was the wrong one to open during their session.

“You?” Will returned the volley when Hannibal shifted in his seat. “Aspirations of family and such,” he shrugged lightly, failing to mask the question as something he wasn’t very interested in hearing, something he asked for the sakes of the talk.

Hannibal found himself wishing to answer truthfully, and not a thought in his mind to contradict him, so he did just that after a brief pause where he allowed an echo of surprise to cross his face. “I was cared for in life by my aunt and uncle, well cared for. But my concept of family died very early in childhood. I have tried to recapture it ever since.”

The words landed heavy on Will, and he looked regretful about broaching the subject. Hannibal reassured him with simple words and stood up to take the cups they had emptied away. When he came back with a syringe in his hands, Will had dozed off aided with the sedatives mixed in his tea. Hannibal stood behind him and leaned him forward, exposing the vertebra at the base of his neck. An unnecessarily complicated place to perform an injection, but excellent for hiding injection marks from the Beta. He allowed himself a moment of transgression, hand coiling around the front of Will’s neck as Hannibal brought his nose down on it, lips ghosting over prickled skin. This close, the sickly sweet scent was intense, coming off Will in waves and warm pulses, dizzying and feeding Hannibal with unseemly thoughts. His tongue darted out, placing warm and slow over the puncture wound that welled with droplets of blood, and licked them clean as his own blood drummed in his ears. The grip he held on Will’s throat tightened as the Alpha inhaled one last time, nose buried in brown curls, teeth aching to sink against flesh.

His indecency had overstayed its welcome and Hannibal stood up.

The vague call of pheromones was a clear indicator the attraction was not only Hannibal’s, but the Beta showed no signs of acting on them, if he even acknowledged them. His stance on _knowing his place_ was clearly stated and expressed, and chances were he didn’t even consider the other man’s interest. Neither should Hannibal act on it for that matter, considering what he started, but he was not above the thought to exploiting the possibility. A casual liaison would work wonders in keeping Will close, and in turn allow Hannibal to monitor progress more simply. A thing to keep in mind, yet also something to be wary of. A game like that could easily become a double-edged blade, but Hannibal had too much confidence playing with fire.

There were smelling salts in his hand, but the Alpha didn’t use them. Instead he moved Will’s limp body to the chaise and sat down by his desk to do paperwork as the Beta caught some needed sleep. His flustered and apologetic reaction after waking could almost be considered adorable. Hannibal noticed the dark circles under his eyes but felt there were more than just nightmares keeping him awake. Symptoms from the drugs were taking form, some worse that other, all very individual. None which Will mentioned. Either the side effects haven’t made him all that worried, or Will was too conscious to mention more possible neurological problems to a man he fancied. He would though, Hannibal was certain. Hopefully not when it would be _too_ late.

The doctor had a lot of paperwork to finish, but he did not find it troublesome to drive the Beta home that evening, even when it clashed with his meticulously set schedule. He considered that implication carefully through his very late evening as he dabbled into artistic dentistry. A few more days and it would be ready. Hannibal was very proud of this one, too.   

+++

Will prepared a lecture on the copy cat, per Jack’s instruction. It made for interesting material and fresh minds were lacking on this case. Will was stuck on it for weeks, felt like answers were being screamed at him but he just couldn’t catch the right frequency. And all throughout the assembly of his lecture he felt an itch of recognition, like he saw it all before but in a different shape. Like this was a killer he knew.

His dreams teased him with answers unreachable as he sagged through corridors laced with antler velvet, following the ring of an old phone. The deeper he went, walls started shedding, fleshy substance flaking in mucks of red and pink to reveal black bone underneath. He hurried through shifting halls, steps uneven as the hallway changed shape into something different, less stable. The end he finally reached with a crawl and the phone waited there, ringing still as large sheets of velvet peeled back bloody from the walls. The answer was there, on the other end of the line, but he only got more riddles, more of the same. An old friend talking in patters he didn’t recognize, whispering answers over and over again that Will just couldn’t catch or recognize.

 _Say something else_ , he yelled but a wolf’s howl coming from behind filled him with dread. His eyes snapped open and his feet felt dew-stained blades of grass. Cold, so cold and standing a few feet away from his porch, outside, at the crack of dawn, sky still coloured deep blue. The howl may not have been a dream at all.

Waking like that felt a victory over dropping off the roof. But a long day of lectures was ahead of him, and already he felt sleepless. Will cancelled that evening’s appointment, as much as he enjoyed them.

 “This killer never wanted to copy the Minnesota Shriek, and he didn’t. In their eyes the murder was elevated. Bettered. This is an intelligent psychopath that won’t kill like this ever again. Evidence would suggest they are an avid reader of Freddie Lounds. Her website was where they got the details of the Hobbs’ murders. Replication of wounds patterns was careful and methodical, but simply to copy would be beneath them.

“Alternatively, they knew Hobbs. Was it personally? Did they appreciate Hobbs from afar or did they engage him? Did Hobbs know the copy cat as the copy cat knew him? Before Hobbs murdered his wife and attempted to do the same to his daughter, he received an untraceable call, re-routed through a swatting service.”

Will paused to look at his watch. Time was up, his throat dry, head pulsing with a migraine. He dismissed the class after one last assumption. “I believe the yet unidentified caller was our copy cat.”

The lights of the lecture hall revealed two visitors he didn’t notice sneaking in for a listen. They waited for his students to leave before approaching him.

“We were just talking about you,” Alana walked up with a smile. The perfume she wore was a wonderful mix of oriental tones that did wonders to mask her actual scent, even to a nose as sensitive as Will’s. Impressive, much like her dress of predominantly red tones. Less office workwear, more something to take out for special occasions and lavish dinners. Will looked over her shoulder and saw Dr. Lecter as her companion, a wicked smile on his face that Will just couldn’t place. Perhaps he enjoyed the lecture. Perhaps he enjoyed her dress.

“Nothing bad I hope.”

She nudged her head in Hannibal’s direction. “He was curious to see one of your lectures, so here we are.” Her eyes came back to Will, a little worried and a little critical. She was not blind to his tired frame. “You want me to talk to Jack? Get you a few days off?”

If Will wanted days off, he’d ask for them on his own, and she knew that but still she tried, hoping perhaps her worry would influence him. He refused politely, even went so far as to promise getting a cab to drive him home. The moment of idle chatter was short, as the two had reservations for dinner and had to leave. Alana was first to go, always mindful of prolonged stay in Will’s presence, though with the perfume she had on, he barely felt his nose itch, or so he thought. Perhaps the medication his therapist shared with him was actually worth something.

Hannibal stayed behind shortly to give Will a small thermos bottle. “What’s that?” Will sniffed out the familiar scent of herbs. “Oh my god,” he laughed. “Tea? Really?”

“A different blend. Something to help you sleep.” The doctor glanced at the door, ready to leave for his engagement, but he stayed his feet for just a moment more. A hand came on Will’s back, a friendly gesture that still managed to jolt him in ways it shouldn’t. “I can still make room for you if you need a talk this evening.”

The hand was warm and kindling on his back. Will released a breathy laugh and stepped away from it. Dr. Lecter was a man married to his work and the Beta did him the favour of declined firmly for the day. He needed some sleep, not a session with an Alpha that caught his eye smelling like the Omega that caught his eye. Dwelling on the thought, he couldn’t quite discern which he found more bothersome. Two things he knew for certain, certain enough to comfort himself with it. He knew these people, some better than others, and Hannibal looked the type for a classy fling but Alana didn’t.

It was poor consolation. They did look good together.

+++

Beverly watched him for at least five minutes from where she stood by the door. Will either didn’t notice her or was too preoccupied with work to bother to greet her. She didn’t mind; there was a curious enjoyment in watching him work, the mystery of the way his brain ticked. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to know what was lying under the hood, a detail she felt was best to keep for herself. Her lab buddies were a lot less eager about someone accurately guessing the results of their work before the work even got done.

The Alpha left after the five minutes of observation, but came back quickly with two cups of coffee on her. What she didn’t like in her observation was the way Will barely blinked, the way he held himself hunched and tense over the images, staring at them like answers were printed all over but he just couldn’t see.

“You eyes will pop out,” Beverly set a cup down by one of the photos he was looking at, snapping his concentration, and he twitched like he didn’t even notice her. Maybe he really didn’t.

“Thanks,” he took the cup. His eyes relaxed and he had to blink several times in quick succession.

“Did you come to any new discoveries?” she asked, sounding almost too eager, like a child waiting to hear a secret.

“I’m stuck on a detail,” he sipped and closed his eyes. They were bloodshot. “I can’t focus elsewhere.”

Beverly dragged a chair to his desk and sat down. “Let me hear it,” she grinned. “Who knows, I might be helpful.”

“Might as well.” She was surprised to have him play along this fast. “Did Jack send you here?”

“He may or may not be wondering if you’ve come to some new discoveries. He did not direct me to hound you, though. That’s all me.”

Will chuckled and gave her the short of what he had so far. “This one’s very methodical and meticulous, but the way he,” Will paused to pick words carefully, he was taking to an Alpha after all. “The way he presents is very... Pompous. It screams superiority. It tells me he does not crave validation – he has it, and then some.”

“Oh, I heard that,” Beverly caught on very quickly to his words. “I heard you labelled this one an Alpha.” Will nodded and waited, seeing she had more to say. “It’s not impossible, certainly. But it’s nothing we can use without actual proof. And there isn’t any, not for that. Why are you so stuck on this?”

“I don’t know...” Will rubbed his palms into his eyes. “The wolf’s fangs, the presentation, the absolute arrogance that comes off this kill. Maybe it’s misdirection? Maybe it’s trying to say something? But I can’t figure it out. I’ll need another body,” the last words came as a cold whisper, but Beverly knew better than to give a rebuttal. Not in this line of work. She knew as well as him it was only a matter of time.

The time being only one more day.

The victim, a man this time, was found in another field in the middle of nowhere, discovered at random by a little girl and the dog she walked that morning. The killer didn’t go for bombast this time, in so much as they didn’t bother stealing something as large as a trophy stag head. Just a few antlers from Hobbs’ cabin this time, nailed to a tree, and the body of a man hanging on it. Crucified. Sharp ends pierced the victim’s arms and back to hold him steady and upright. Another surgical cut, another missing organ, another person that died with eyes wide open in fear.

“Trophies?” Will asked himself as he observed the immaculate cut done with surgeon’s precision. First lungs, now kidneys.

He pulled on rubber gloves to look at the victim’s face. No longer a girl but still a Beta. This wasn’t about emulating Hobbs anymore. This was a show. The jaw line was oddly shaped, unnatural and swollen. Will pushed the lips apart and found out exactly why.

“Jesus,” he cursed, backing away.

The victim was definitely awake for all of that. A lesson in humility as every tooth got pulled out with a loud crunch and replaced with ones of an animal. A wolf, if the pattern was to hold. No anaesthetics. Never anaesthetics. His point was to die, but not just for his impudence. No, he had to be seen. Someone had to see this and understand. Understand—

“I recall you saying he wasn’t going to kill like this again,” Jack came up behind him unannounced, and it snapped Will out, almost painfully, from his analysis. Will didn’t know what to say to him, but that itch of recognition hit him again. He could feel it on the tip of his tongue.

Will couldn’t leave it at that, not when he was so close. He cancelled another appointment, he cut his trip to John Hopkins’ short, and he locked himself in his empty lecture hall with the files from the scenes. The onset of sleep Will ignored with cup after cup of coffee, and at the moment when it started tasting like water, when he all but gave up in frustration, it was that stale taste of coffee that woke up old memories. He drank so many back then. Any normal person would fear a heart attack, but he was too far gone in a wretched place to even consider it, staring at a black formless shape, barely human if human at all.

Will left the mess of photos and files on his table as he hurried to the archives.

+++

On his way to Jack’s office, Will passed two interns sitting on a bench. One of them, a Beta, cried profusely, choking on his sobs. His friend sat next to him trying to offer comfort. Will stopped and asked if they were well, but the friend, an Omega, look at Will with a forlorn look and declined assistance. Will had seen that look many times on victims, on survivors, frozen in the eyes of the dead. He also saw it on people who managed to step on Jack Crawford’s toes.

Will was mindful of his entrance. He knocked on the glass door, waited a moment for the Alpha to look up and recognize him, and then he entered. Jack was tossing some papers around his desk and he looked positively irritable. The look his boss gave him was more like _piss off_ than _hello_ , but Will only offered him a crooked smile in return and approached the table, taking a seat.

“So I take it you’ve found the culprits who leaked Lounds the info?”

Jack’s only answer to the question was a deep sigh and with it came the release of tension in his shoulders as he sat back in the chair. He looked up at the ceiling, begging for the Lord’s strength, and said, “I’m this close to sending them home for good.”

“One of them is crying.” Will chuckled when he saw how satisfied his boss was to know that. “A suspension seems fair.”

Knowing Jack, the janitor was about to get a paid vacation and some replacement. Will threw the folder he carried on the desk to grab his boss’ fleeting attention. It was late in the day, everyone wanted to go home.

“What’s this?” Jack asked, flipping open the folder and running into familiar images dating back two years.

“That’s our copy cat.”

Jack carefully raised his head from the folder containing The Ripper files. He felt like he was being toyed with. “I distinctly remember you saying the copy cat has a motive, one you’ve yet to find,” he stressed the last part.

“That’s what I said.”

“I also distinctly remember you claiming The Ripper did not, and never will.”

“That’s also what I said.”

Jack was skeptical, mostly because he didn’t want to believe this was happening again. Evidence was lacking to support Will’s claims, no matter how convincingly he put it. They couldn’t make it official, but Jack took his profiler’s words into account, albeit uncertainly. There was some misplaced optimism he found in Will’s alleged discoveries. The trace of a motive was an anomaly, but anomalies could be uncovered, resolved. That could be what would help them catch The Ripper. On the other hand, the thought that another cycle was starting right under their noses was little comfort.

Jack remained ambivalent about Will’s discovery. He remembered well how it left him once, long ago, and he didn’t want a repeat. He sent Will home with a pat on the back and an express order to get some sleep, something he noticed the Beta lacking profusely day after day. Maybe it was time he had a words with Will’s therapist.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through the course of writing I have found an inexplicable need to bro up Hannibal and Alana. I think it's the A/O friendship that drew me to it. You've been warned!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7, where Hannibal is a wanted man, Will solves a very strange case of mushrooms and reacquaints himself with the gun.

 

“How did I let you talk me into this,” Alana sipped her champagne and watch the mingling of tuxes and dresses, high class Baltimore socialites enjoying a good show. There were quite a few eyes on them, but it didn’t bother her, else she wouldn’t have taken her sheath dress in ultramarine out for the evening.

“You had some of my beer,” came Hannibal’s response and she did not second guess it at all.

It was really good beer. It was also a really good show led by a singer of operatic quality that Hannibal probably knew personally. It was the only way to get such a prestigious invitation. Alana didn’t often indulged in such luxuries, but a colleague’s invitation was hard to reject after a long week of work. There was some shielding involved, though. Miss Komeda didn’t know the meaning of giving up, even when the object of her pursuit came with a date. She threw some remarkable looking stink eyes in Alana’s direction when the good doctor wasn’t looking. Alana could only laugh. She found it quite silly, though the woman’s courage was a thing of envy, however futile. She noticed more looks in their direction, but none that ever approached to court. Many did approach, mostly to talk to Dr. Lecter, starving for his attention. Alana had a lot of empathy for such situation, often finding herself with too many unwanted courtships and a lot of questions she hated answering. It was how they were asked that really bothered her, an air of condescension in them.

“My mother calls me every now and then, not to ask how I’m doing, but to see if I’ve found someone.” Alana scoffed and emptied the glass of champagne she carried around for the longest time. She wasn’t a fan of it. “He’s really annoying like that.”

“Old world mentality,” Hannibal said and stopped a waiter, whispering something into his ear and sending him on his way. “They forget today we function a little differently.”

“Hardly. I still get patronizing looks when the subject of mates gets brought up.”

“Some people don’t understand the quality of being alone.”

The Omega agreed with some enthusiasm, but also added, “I plan on having a family, just on my own terms. And not yet.”

“Waiting for something special to arrive?” Alana nodded again, mirroring the smile that spread on his lips. “I can certainly relate to that.”

“I’ve got time,” she noticed the waiter approach them from afar with only one drink on his platter, a familiar one. “Thirty-five isn’t too old,” she said, her words masked with confidence, but not well enough. She couldn’t hide her own lingering doubt in them. “Is it?” Almost all of her friends already had families.

“Well if it is, you’ve certainly asked the opinion of the wrong individual,” Hannibal smiled charmingly and Alana couldn’t help but follow with a laugh. She had a lot of admiration for the way the Alpha led his life, unperturbed by people’s whispering and calmly rejecting in the face of undesired courtship. A man who knew what he wanted and wouldn’t settle for anything less.

The waiter approached them with a tall glass of stout, just for the Omega. Her mood sparked and they clinked their glasses together. She rejected the curious notion to ask Hannibal the same set of questions; if he wanted to say something, he would have already. The Alpha’s private life was always a bit mysterious, even to close friends like her. But she could respect privacy.

“Perhaps your mother is afraid you might be looking for love in the wrong places,” Hannibal said, guiding the stream of their conversation further in her direction.

Alana knew exactly what he meant with those words that left his mouth in a bit of a hyperbolic fashion. The comment visibly upset her, brows furrowed as she drank her glass of beer to half emptiness. The thought had crossed Alana unfortunately, the thought that her parents might worry she is looking for commitment among her own kind. “Did I upset you?”

“What upsets me,” the Omega spoke, a high note of irritation ringing in her syllables, but aimed at no one around, no one present, “is the thought that my mother might be upset by that.” A defeated sigh left her, “And he would. He would be upset.”

Hannibal placed a comforting hand around her shoulders, timed it well so that a few stray eyes would catch them. “Different times, Alana,” he reminded her just as a pianist sat down to entertain the crowd with a play of Chopin’s _Grande valse brillante_. The uplifting tones would lift her spirits.

Alana couldn’t help not to ask about his latest patient, though. They tip-toed around the subject already but she was getting worried enough to ask questions, try her luck and encourage Hannibal to break some rules.

“How is Will?” The Omega asked as they sat down on their private table.

“He’s hiding something from me.” The answer was simultaneously too much and too little information for her.

“Are you asking for tips?” Alana joked, but offered insight regardless. Nothing she assumed Hannibal didn’t know already, but worth a mention. “Will doesn’t have many friends. I don’t think he knows what it means to open up to someone fully.”

“A better understanding of why people do what they do doesn’t make it any easier to socialize.”

“You cope well enough,” she pointed out, giving him a lopsided grin. “You should teach him a few tricks.”

“I’m working on it,” a sly look spread across the Alpha’s features, like he was hiding something from her this time. Alana had no time to question it before he turned the tables on her. “Will Graham seems to be a frequent thought on your mind.”

She chuckled, rolling eyes at his implication, but the words she had for him were heartfelt. “I’m not sure we can even be considered friends,” her smile was a touch too fond and wistful. “I’m too afraid of my professional curiosity with him. That, and I’m overly conscious of every time he sneezes in my company.”

Hannibal felt an unusual pull to share a piece of advice that would benefit her and the person they spoke of. “Your distance hurts him more than you think. Don’t treat him with kid gloves, Alana.”

Once the topic was breached, it was hard to get the Beta off his mind. Hannibal was certain what troubled dear Will was a possible side effect of his current medication. Night terrors perhaps, sleep paralysis, or even sleepwalking. All were good candidates. Perhaps the Beta hid his issues due to embarrassment, not wanting the doctor to think of him even more messed up than he already was. Perhaps he thought it was a stress-related and that it would pass in time. Either way, Hannibal was certain he’d be hearing about it when things got significantly more serious. The goal was to reach the fever phase with Will all but eating from his hand. More than feasible, his nose told him so. Even with all his senses filled with the delicate Jasmine notes of Alana’s perfume, and what a wonderful choice it was, the embers of memory kindled with excitement every time he would recall what pulsed off the Beta’s skin.

Often underestimated was the simplicity of attraction to someone who could simply understand us. Hannibal’s delight only grew when he heard of Will’s latest discovery.

 _It’s not official,_ the Beta had told him recently with few words thrown in at the end of their last session, _they need concrete evidence for that. But I’m more than certain we’re dealing with The Ripper again._

+++

It was too early for him to be awake, too early for work at least, but if sleep wouldn’t have him Will would make something of the morning. At least he didn’t wake on his feet.

He made zero progress on a new case Jack had him look at. Spending the morning, as well as the previous evening, thinking about it was out of the question. There would be no new discoveries, not before Will cleared his buffer.

He stopped by the florist and spent too long looking over flowers and vases. His first choices felt too kitsch, his second too plain. He let the shop attendant chose for him as well as arrange a bouquet of various flowers, the size of which grew to a point where Will didn’t know where to put it in his car. The end result wasn’t cheap, but it looked good, or at least Will thought it did. The gesture was worth the money.

It was just one vase, but he wouldn’t let it be the last. The nurse that took care of Abigail beamed when she saw him, happy that the girl was getting some visitors finally. She sat the flowers down by the window and left them alone. Will didn’t know what to do in the quiet empty room, only the beeping of her heart monitor keeping him company. This was the second time he visited her, the first one being in the company of Dr. Lecter. He remembered the doctor holding her hand, but the simple gesture took Will some convincing. It was suffocating watching her wilt in this empty white room that smelled of disinfectants. He felt like he put here there with his own hands, in part because he got to know her father a little too well and in part for his own failure. Apologising was worth nothing to the girl in this state, nor was it anything she could hear. Feeling though, she might have and it might reach her.

Her hands were chilled when Will first touched them. He took a moment to turn away and sneeze before her grabbed her hand between two of his own to warm, and stayed like that in meditative silence. A clam like that was almost impossible to find, and sleep was just about to take him if the voice coming from the door would allow it.

“It’s nice someone visits her, but I’m not certain that _someone_ should be you.”

Will let go of the girl’s hand and got up, grabbing his jacked to put it on. He didn’t even turn towards the door, knowing full well who the voice belonged to. He didn’t want to talk to her, nor did he want her in this room.

“Did you like my recent article?” Miss Lounds posed the question cocksure. It had been a few days since it went public and it garnered quite the number of hits. People loved tragedies as much as they loved gossips, and her articles almost always delivered in both.

Jack was furious to read it and her accusation of FBI cover ups, but there was little he could do about it beyond prolong the suffering of her informants. Will didn’t look at the article, didn’t have to. The slander was in his head already, he didn’t need to see it go public. Dr. Lecter suggested the same. He also suggested avoiding confrontation with the person responsible.

Will tried doing just that. He pushed her out of the room and closed the door, proceeding down the hall entirely adamant on ignoring her very presence.

“If you’d granted me an interview, the damage could’ve been reduced. It still can.” She trailed after him, almost jogging, failing slightly to keep up with Will’s long hurried steps. “Or I could make it worse.”

Poor sleeping habits turned Will into a cranky morning person, but threats like those pushed his buttons like little else and he was all out of patience. He stopped and turned all too sudden, the reporter barely catching herself in time not to crash into him. She took a step back for caution, but he caught right up and aimed a searing look of anger at her that he didn’t have to fake. Will’s fists were clenched but he didn’t fall low enough to strike a woman, though she almost seemed to be making herself a willing candidate with her smugness. It would make a good story, that’s for sure.

“Does it strike you as a good idea to threaten a man who thinks about murder for a living?”

Will didn’t think much of what he said but he enjoyed the flinch of panic on her face. It shut her up and that was a result he was pleased to get. Jack, however, wasn’t pleased with Will’s runny mouth considering it earned him another slandering piece, this one more focused on the manner of crazy the FBI preferred to employ.

Dr. Lecter wasn’t particularly happy with the news either, and that bothered Will a smidgeon more than Jack’s stare-down of reprehension.

“You should have minded your words around her,” he said and offered Will another cup of tea, a recent constant in their sessions.

Will shrugged and took the drink, sinking in the armchair to enjoy it. “What did she write about this time?” The words ‘ _psycho whisperer_ ’were used, that much Will knew and could infer its nature with that little detail. It was a fact Beverly Katz shared with him to have a jovial laugh over, thus decreeing the article comedy gold.

“Nothing you should concerned yourself with,” professional as always, only the slightest hint of annoyance escaped his face. “Now tell me, how have you been sleeping?”

Embarrassment pinched the Beta every time the doctor questioned his sleeping habits. Will was aware of how he looked with those tired shades collecting under his eyes. Students were already giving him concerned looks. Night time was not a good time for Will, and a good night of sleep was a rare occurrence these days. He spent more time changing sheets every morning from all the sweat than preparing a decent breakfast. Vague memories of nightmares would wake him, but few would stick, other than the cold feeling of fear that told him basically everything. He kept omitting the sleepwalking. It’s been a while since he woke up out of his bed, long enough for him to consider it just a passing phase.

“Stress,” Hannibal reassured him, a comforting hand squeezing Will’s shoulder, “nothing to worry about. It’ll pass.”

 _Just like the sleepwalking_ , Will thought and agreed with a silent nod.

Dr. Lecter took his seat opposite him and crossed his legs. He still held the air of a father disapproving, something Will assumed had to do with Miss Lounds and her article. He was wrong. “And how has work been treating you?”

“Same old,” Will shrugged and the gaze set on him turned more piercing with discontent. “Oh, you mean the other,” Will chuckled, “didn’t I mention that?”

“You mentioned The Ripper, but—”

Will cut him off, a considerably rude gesture in most cases, but for Will it signified the ease of their rapport. It was also very rare for him to do so, and as such raised some suspicion in Hannibal. Will was avoiding.

“No, I was referring to the case I’m working right now. You’ve seen it in the news, surely. The mushroom garden?”

Hannibal conceded to this new tale, intriguing and fresh on his mind from that morning’s paper. There was time in their session for both talks.

The strangest crop was found yesterday as children played in the woods. Three bodies buried in high-nutrient compost, and adult woman and her children. Katz’s good nose saved Will from defiling another crime scene; the woman was an Omega, but the bloat and rot was so strong it kept most of the forensic team away. Those with weaker olfactory systems were not so fortunate and Will was given a scarf to help him with the smell. He mostly just forgo breathing altogether while he looked, eidetic memory locking images of people buried alive and left to slowly rot as their remains fed the fungi growing on them. None survived the extraction from the graves.

“I suppose I don’t have to get into a lot of detail. The press was thorough, as was Lounds I hear,” Will put his cup down and shifted in his seat. “Woman’s a widow, husband died some three years ago. That was my first guess, husband, because something about the crime feels close. Intimate. The victims were induced into a coma, kept alive while supplying life to the fungi, hands held up by metal poles as if meant to be held for someone’s comfort. The intent is what escapes me,” Will said through teeth, frustrated.

“Am I correct to assume the bodies were fertilizers for the fungi?” Will nodded. “Needless to keep them alive, yet they were. Perhaps the fungi are the missing piece you’re looking for.”

Will leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees as he listened to the doctor. He didn’t find a satisfying theory for the fungi, and any advice would serve their case well. “Best I got was a symbiotic existence, like they were doubling in for... _something._ Something that wasn’t there.”

Hannibal nodded and within a few beats of silence, another thought crossed him. “Consider the structure of the fungi. It mirrors that of a human brain. An intricate web of connections.”

Will’s eyes lit up with a spark of revelation when he heard the doctor’s words. Instead of finishing the thought himself, Dr. Lecter let Will do it. “He admires them for it, the way they connect with each other. The killer can’t do that.” Will stringed the words in a rush as he got up and went for his coat. There was a lot more on his mind, but he didn’t have to time to tell, it seemed.

“I take it you’ve come to a discovery,” Dr. Lecter got up with much less haste and watched him rush to leave their session prematurely.

The Beta apologised and meant it, one foot already out of the office as he was doing it. He promised to make up for his indiscretion.

“You need to look through the list of the victim’s friends and acquaintances,” Will talked to Jack on the phone as he rushed to his car. “Single out every Omega, and then single out those who have a medical background.”

+++

Jack checked his watch. He should have been home already, he promised not to make this another night where he got home with his wife already sleeping. They haven’t had a good talk in ages. Breakfast barely counted with how long it took them both to achieve functioning status.

“I had the team look into what you said,” Jack began, “but no one fits your description.”

Will was standing in his office, eyes stuck on the board pinned with all the latest unsolved murders. The girl mounted on a stag’s head kept stealing his gaze, as did the man crucified on antlers.

“Of course not,” Will spoke matter-of-factly. “She wouldn’t introduce this one to her family or circle of friends, maybe not even close ones. They kept it secret because none of them would understand.” Will could feel Jack missing the point of his words so he turned to look at him and added, “Her previous mate was an Alpha. They would judge.”

Jack clicked almost immediately, connecting the dots to Will’s insistence of calling this crime intimate. “What about the mushrooms?”

“Maybe she was trying to leave?” Will set his eyes on the photo of the victim, or what remained of her. Female features weren’t even recognizable. “Maybe it wasn’t working anymore. She felt a bond once in her life but this just wasn’t it. Couldn’t measure.” Will paused and looked at the picture from a different point of view. “Alternatively, it was our killer that wanted a bond, a connection, but couldn’t get it. So they made one.” Will turned to Jack again and concluded, “That’s where the fungi come in.”

The barest hint of compassion could be seen on Jack’s face, but only the barest. This was still a grievous murder, and no amount of understanding would make that go away. “Damn,” he whispered, shaking his head. The next day looked to be filled with a lot of interviews and digging into people’s lives.

Will preferred to do his research among papers and computer data after class. A strange little pattern reoccurred from the victim’s daily life – she was diabetic, but the pharmacy where she constantly picked up her medicine was located too far from her house, or her work place. Will counted three pharmacies closer than the one she kept coming back to. He latched on to that, having found nothing else worth noting, and the clue was good enough for Jack to investigate.

“Oh yeah,” one of the staff members said when she saw a picture of the victim alive, “I haven’t seen her in a while but she was a frequent customer. Dean would always service her. They were friends, I think?”

When they asked to talk to this Dean Stemmolts, they found his work station empty, laptop abandoned, and Freddie Lounds’ website in his browser history.

“That’s your guy,” Will said conclusively, but there was griping anger in his voice, like his presence had ruined an easy catch. That or Freddie Lounds’ existence. “The son of a bitch recognized my face from the articles and bolted, but that’s your guy.”

The FBI had a name, a face, the address, licence plate, everything they could need to find him. It was a matter of days, if not hours, before the man was caught and Will considered his job done. Half of him pulled to go home, rest his splitting head and sleepless eyes. The other half wanted to pay a visit to Dr. Lecter, thank him for his help and enjoy the tea he had lately been craving. He chose neither. There was still daylight to be had and someone to visit.

It didn’t make sense to buy a teddy for a teenager, so Will bought a teddy for a teenager and spent the drive to John Hopkins’ berating himself for a stupid decision. The teddy never got to Abigail, though, instead earning itself a bullet through its glass eye in the crossfire.

A man, vaguely familiar, stood in Abigail’s room, gun in his hand aimed at no one. Not yet.

“You walk into a field of mycelium, and they know you're there. Their spores reach for you when you pass by. You can feel them and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. I could _feel_ them.”

Will’s eyes recognized the man as he slowly and carefully moved his free hand.

“That website says you understand even the strangest folk, but I don’t think you do. I don’t think you understood me at all.”

Will felt his gun holster with the tips of his fingers.

“Because if you do,” the man turned to look at Will, desperate and furious in equal measure, eyes red and face twisted with anger, “then why did you take her away from me?!”

Two gunshots echoed down the empty hospital corridor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean Stemmolts, anagram for Eldon Stammets because a butchery of character that deep needed a change of name. Sorry Eldon, you were simply too interesting for my story.
> 
> Also next week, the 7th and 9th tag (counting from the back), that have been sitting there useless and unexplored and tempting readers probably, finally achieve meaning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8, in which super deep and meaningful things happen, like murder talk and fucking.

 

Will sat in the waiting room, exhausted physically and mentally. He wanted to go home, but didn’t trust himself to drive at all. They way in which the events unfolded were technically a victory, something that should have felt good but there was no such feeling in him, not in this case. He purposefully declined both Jack’s and Beverly’s offers for a ride home. Through a forty minute drive to Wolf Trap he couldn’t remain silent, yet didn’t want to talk. Not to them, at least. Will got the call at precisely 7:32 PM. Among all that happened, he forgot to cancel his appointment.

No greeting came from the Beta when Dr. Lecter arrived twenty minutes later. Will didn’t fight his insistence, didn’t want to. “I barely managed not to shoot him more than once,” the opener drove straight to the point with a tight-lipped smile.

There was no reaction from Hannibal to his bold statement, no words. He disappeared for a moment down white sterile halls and returned with two cups of coffee from the machines. Imagining the doctor taking even a sip of that liquid would have been enough to make anyone laugh, but Will felt too drained even for a chuckle on Dr. Lecter’s expense. The Alpha sat next to him and offered one of the cups, but remained silent.

“I thought about killing him,” Will said after a few gulps. There was too much sugar in it, or just enough to mask its tastelessness. “I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention pulling the trigger.”

“And yet you didn’t.” Hannibal felt mildly disappointed by the outcome, but he had no trouble hiding it. “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather I drive you home for some sleep?”

“That’s the last thing I want,” Will finished his coffee and threw it wrathfully towards the trash can, specs of dark liquid dirtying white floor tiles. He cringed, not from his actions but from the lack of thought he put in his words. It was almost eight. “I’m sorry, that was selfish. It’s-It’s very late—”

“Not a problem.”

Will felt the words more than he heard them when a warm hand landed just shy of his nape. He wasn’t going to fight the Alpha for the sakes of courtesy. He could have, but he won’t. If Hannibal didn’t want him in his office, he wouldn’t have extended the invitation. Will mouthed an _ok_. The hand left his back leaving a warm prickling feeling where it slid off.

Hannibal encouraged him to keep talking in the car.

“He came there to die. Couldn’t turn the gun on himself, so he was hoping someone else would do it for him. He had nothing left to live for.”

Will’s distress was palpable in his voice, in the way his fist kept slamming against his thigh. A discomfort in his choices clear as day, and Hannibal could read them for nothing else but sheer disappointment. “Will,” he was carefully to speak when they stopped at a red light, making sure he could turn his head towards the Beta and have a good look at him, his eyes. “You’re upset you couldn’t kill him. Are you aware of that?”

The Beta looked back at him, lacking apprehension in his steady gaze. He had time to think it over with himself and come to conclusions. Conclusions he didn’t shy from. “They won’t take him to jail. He’ll be stuck in the hospital for the criminally insane, pumped full of drugs to keep him docile. That’s no life, especially for a man who didn’t even want it.”

“Compelling argument,” Hannibal nodded once. “Faced with the same odds, I wager any one of us would consider death’s embrace. It would be a mercy.” The light switched to yellow and Hannibal turned his attention back on the road. “Tell me then, why didn’t you give him mercy?”

“He put a mother and her children in a grave,” the icy words effortlessly left Will.

His empathy worked finely on both ends; killers weren’t exclusive to Will’s perceptive mind. But the answer Hannibal got, a truth in its own right, was not entirely honest. It didn’t have to be, because the doctor knew him well enough to infer the rest. The simple beauty of their communication – where Will didn’t have to say anything else and yet Hannibal knew that was really kicked the Beta from emptying his clip was the fear of enjoyment.  

Will’s body went limp after a few blocks spent in silence, aided by the contents slipped into his coffee. The drive to Dr. Lecter’s office extended as he made a turn and drove for his home instead, sparked by a whim and a want. Hannibal parked in the safety of his enclosed garage, turned on the lights in his Bentley and checked Will’s responsiveness. He was utterly out of it, half due to sedatives mixed in his drink and half due to his sleeplessness. Out of the glove department he pulled a small case, another syringe filled with a clear fluid waiting in it. The back of Will’s neck was still an optimal place for injections, unnoticeable, though a tricky position to manage inside a car. Discretion was the real problem, something Hannibal kept being surprised by.

Different than having Will unconscious in the office, the space in the car was smaller, tighter. The proximity between them erased to nothing as Hannibal took off his seatbelt and leaned him down, paying a shocking amount of attention to Will’s comfortable positioning as he injected the fluid in his system. Unorderly thoughts were once again drawn to light in the Alpha’s mind, but the most Hannibal allowed himself was to cup Will’s face when he sat him back up again. Short, coarse hair itched against his hands as the Alpha pressed his thumb over rosy lips, damaged by lack of care and harsh weather. He thought of damaging them further, parting them, tasting them. He went so much as to pry them open with the pressure of his thumb before he reeled back into his seat.

Being the epitome of control, Hannibal didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t even bring his thumb stained with the barest hint of saliva to his mouth for a taste. No, when Hannibal pulled back he reached for the smelling salts.

Will woke with a start and a foul stench latching to his nose, gone quickly in the moments it took him to realise where he was. He almost felt like he dreamt the smell, and considering the wild candescence of his dream that was not an impossibility. “I’m sorry about that,” Will rubbed his eyes. “I must have dozed off.”

“I will consider your apology,” Hannibal said with a hint of a smile, “if you join me for a drink in the kitchen, rather than a seat in the office. You look like you could use one after today.”

“You’d be right,” Will nodded and stumbled out of the car.

+++

“What are we drinking to?” Rosé wine from an expensive looking bottle with a French label got poured into Will’s glass. He withheld comments on his generally nonexistent appreciation of wine. Hannibal would have probably humoured him and offered something substantially stronger which would be a bad idea considering the gulps with which he tasted the pale, carbonated drink.

“A job well done?” Hannibal offered and tasted his wine with a lot more grace and measure.

“Right,” Will emptied his glass, but it didn’t stay empty for long. “I suppose not killing a man is a cause for celebration.”

Will’s disposition threatened to remain derisive for the time and Hannibal could certain understand his reasoning. Such a shame that Will managed to stay his hand. “A tragic tale nonetheless,” he said carefully, weaving sympathy with a professional touch. “Most will consider his acts vile. It will shine a worse light on an already terribly taboo subject.”

“It wasn’t vile, not from his point of view,” Will’s tone mellowed, his face reflecting sadness, his own and perhaps even the killer’s. “Shit like this is why I left Louisiana.”

“Too much prejudice?”

“ _Too much_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“I’ve dealt with quite a few patients, both Alpha and Omega, who deemed themselves mentally ill for desiring one like themselves.” Will made a face, visibly repulsed by what Hannibal said, and pulled for his glass of wine. “It’s a challenge reaching them. Society tends to have a stronger voice than the sole therapist they visit. Louder. We’ve progressed in certain way but are still hinged on reproductive outcomes of a relationship. These relationships fail in that respect, and as such fail in the eyes of society. Or, as the substantially less offensive saying goes, they are deemed wasteful.”

“Unnatural,” Will added after emptying another glass. That’s the word he was familiar with. “How do you deal with such patients?”

“You make them hear you, and then you make sure they continue to listen.” A hint of teeth flashed when Hannibal pulled the corner of his lips into a grin and added, “Trade secret. I can’t reveal more.”

“Or you’d kill me, right, I heard that one before,” Will chuckled and reached for the bottle to pour them both a new round.

“Something like that,” Hannibal said, maintaining the amusement on his face as his eyes fixated on the bobbing Adam’s apple, and then trailed up to the eyes bright blue and fixed on him, aware of the attention. He did enjoy them best with the spectacles removed, a comfort Will honoured in the privacy of their company. “Hungry?”

Warmed by alcohol, they stripped off a few layers of jackets and vests, hanging them over their chairs. Will went further and rolled up the sleeves of his Navy blue plaid shirt, one new enough not to have been rendered to a fading set of colours. He could almost be proud of it. With lax talk over small appetizers, the wine was quick to empty between them. Will watched him open another bottle as the previous one already buzzed pleasantly in him, warming the room for a few degrees. Much like the first one they went through, this bottle did not lack in taste either. Will had little to compare it with, but the slim shape and foreign label told him all he needed to know about its price.

“You sure you want to waste another one? Maybe open something a little cheaper.” The question occurred to Will if the man even had anything cheaper in his house. Probably not.

Hannibal ignored him and poured his glass full. The wine wasn’t Rosé this time, but a dark red one, slightly carbonated and very sweet.

“The wine is only as good as the company,” the doctor gave him a wink, sly and masked by decency, but not masked enough. A deliberate opening left in his words and expression. A dangling lure waiting for a bite.

Will rolled his eyes with a smile, half aware of what was thrown in front of him, and half in denial. Heat rising in his chest prompted him to undo the top few buttons around his collar. “I doubt talks of death and murder are all that fun for you.”

“They’re quit fascination,” Hannibal said in earnest. “But your company has other strengths as well.”

“Humour me,” Will hid his grin behind gulps of wine.

“Besides the intrigues of your mind?” Hannibal was careful to hook Will’s gaze to his own and he smiled behind the tipped glass, smiled wide enough for the Beta to notice. “You’re pleasant to look at.”

It was hard for Will to break away from their staring game when he heard that, and as they usually do, the maroon eyes told him a lot more details the words glossed over. The air felt heavy and warm for a moment, increasing with a slow kindle for every new breath Will took. There was no mistaking that scent; Will knew where this could go and oddly enough it was his call to make. He chose to stall, genuinely unsure of where to go with this offer, yet feeling to bold with all the wine and compliments. The option to walk out felt like a ludicrous waste with each ticking second.

“I don’t know how to respond to that,” Will said, truly void of wit and thought after a good long moment of silence that drew between their heated stares.

“Would that be a first?”

Will shook his head with a light laugh and finished his wine. He sat the glass down on the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed, ready to tackle the elephant sitting in the room head on. Hannibal would appreciate the bluntness, he always does. And it would be only fair to give the good doctor a chance to reconsider this as a possible mistake. He’d do well himself to reconsider but loneliness could do things to people, make them a little desperate. _Only a little_ , Will told himself.

“You’re my psychiatrist.”

“Not officially,” Hannibal finished his wine as well and sat his glass down next to Will’s. “The sessions we have have no right to be called psychiatry.”

The Beta expected a rebuttal like that, but he had an old wives’ tale in his hands. “I hear your ilk isn’t suited for fooling around,” Will’s tone was flippant, much like the smile he could barely conceal. He leaned in towards the Alpha after he spoke. At this point, the distance between them was socially acceptable, but barely.

“You’re right,” Hannibal’s eyes closed for a moment as he nodded, solemn in his admittance but only long enough to ruse. “Or you would be if I were a teenager and you an Omega. We fall in neither category, I’m afraid.”

Feeling all the more daring, Will looked around the kitchen, spotless and orderly, and asked something that would almost certainly be refused. A bedroom felt more like the doctor’s territory, but that, Will found, would be too person for his own taste. Both their taste.

“Is the kitchen out of the question?”

Hannibal hummed with mild surprise, a lopsided grin for effort, “You don’t look the type.” Not one to waste time, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up the white sleeves of his shirt, unhurried.

“You even less,” Will shrugged, tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he focused on the arms.

 “You’d be surprised.” Will heard the grin in his words before he saw it, that show of sharp white teeth that told the Beta he could have the _where._ The _how_ was another story.

Will accepted the offer more formally, leaning back against the counter, his arms untangled from his torso and set against the edge. He accepted Hannibal’s dare as well with a defiant look and a jerk of head. He waited to be surprised, or waited at least for the first move he was issuing a dare for. A second after fine jolts of shock coursed through him as foreign hands caught on to his buckle in an effort to pull his belt off, Will remembered who he was and who he was with. Haste was not something he could work well with.

“I’m, uhh,” he lost track of words as quick as his belt got pulled through the loops and coiled on the floor with a loud clang. “I’m a little—” Will failed again when hands returned on him and undid the top button of his trousers, space between the two of them shrinking into nothingness. The Alpha smelled wonderful, so inciting. Will couldn’t imagine backing off now, too late for that. His eyes were stuck on the hands again, the safest of all places to look in this moment when heat rolled beads of sweat down his brow. It helped long enough for him to say what he needed to say. “You’ll need something extra with me. You know that, right?”

Hannibal hummed in question and Will looked up, almost on eye level this close, and found the doctor entirely unperturbed by the situation, a picture Will was certain his own face wasn’t showing. He swallowed a lump and clarified, “I’m a little dryer than usual.”

Hannibal’s laugh was low in tone, seemingly too amused with Will’s need to remind him that he was a Beta. “Even stimulated?” The Alpha asked and Will had to chuckle at the doctor’s choice of words. _Foreplay_ was surely in his language, but Will couldn’t quite imagine him saying it. The laugh was quick to die, though, as he realised what Hannibal’s question insinuated. In case of any doubt, the Alpha was kind enough to demonstrate. A hand of his slid down and cupped Will’s groin with slow, gentle strokes.

“I assumed we’d be quick,” Will muttered, voice subdued and eyes closed from the prickles of pleasure rising through him on tidal waves.

“I don’t do quick,” the Alpha told him quick and simple, but with a voice silken with seduction and pressed close to Will’s ear.

The Beta opened his eyes when he felt the nose slide down his neckline, and every hair on the back of his head bristled in the wake. He took the lack of comment as approval of his changed cologne, and was ready to make his own remark on it, to defuse the massive amounts of tension building in him with every silent second and every simple stroke of a hand. He didn’t get to say a word or even make a sound. The offer of being surprised was seriously taken by Hannibal.

Even the most humble Alpha had in him the pride of a lion, and seeing one on his knees had Will mute. But it wasn’t just anyone, was it? It was Dr. Lecter and he was simply too good to be caught doing that, too good to present himself like so to Will of all people. This show he was about to receive, this offer to give first, how was Will to act on it other than shock and gratitude. But the Beta wasn’t stupid either, he had his share of experiences. Will felt strings tying around him. He knew he was a step away from allowing the Alpha to do anything after a gesture like that. Clever, controlling even. But coherency was on short supply, and Will was far too aroused to let that bother him or stop him from taking this moment. Everyone had their vices in bed, and some went through good work to hide theirs.

“This is a bad idea,” the Beta voiced with what little remained in him willing to fight for the sakes of morals and decency.

“For me or for you?” The Alpha looked up and asked. Hannibal showed no signs of bother with his knees on the ground.

“Mostly for you,” Will lied.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” It was the closest Will ever felt to hearing an actual command leave the doctor’s mouth, stitched into inoffensive words with a sharp tone and a strict look. Will silenced as his trousers got pulled down around his ankles.

His knuckles went white with the pressure he applied to the marble counter. Will had to close his eyes. It was too much to look, to see Dr. Lecter on his knees in front of him, taking him into his mouth. The Alpha knew what he was doing and did it well, well enough to quickly turn Will’s breathing audible, to spike warm bursts in his belly with an expert’s use of tongue. Or maybe it was all those years of loneliness talking. Or maybe it didn’t matter right now because Hannibal’s lips felt perfect around his cock, working over him with a smooth and maddeningly slow rhythm. Want and need took control of Will’s hand, and he didn’t even notice until it was too late where it had tangled. He opened his eyes to meet Hannibal’s staring up at him, sharp and fervent as he swallowed him whole, nose buried in dark curls. The hands, firmly gripping the Beta’s hips, did not come up to swat away Will’s, so he curled his fist, tried his luck and pulled, dictating the speed.

The Alpha let him. He let Will pull and push, not a sign of complaint as he fucked Hannibal’s mouth, as his knees turned soft, and voice cracked when the Alpha swallowed down every last drop Will had to give. Will combed the hair back in place with a shaky hand and let go, strands of silver and gold stuck between his fingers. He could feel his heart hammering in his throat as the Alpha stood up, meeting him in height, and wiped his mouth with his thumb. Not a drop went to waste and their eyes shackled each other in a feverish gaze that sent warm shivers down Will’s back. Clever, so very clever. Will was at a place where he’d allow anything.

There were conditions on the Beta’s mind – get a condom, use some lube anyway, no knotting, absolutely no knotting – but all that flew right out the window. Lines he didn’t want crossed suddenly seemed fairly banal. Will didn’t mind getting bent over the counter at all; he welcomed it, eager as ever to please just as he had been. He welcomed the hand pressing him down between his shoulder blades and the fingers working him loose. Hungry, starving, he pushed back on them wanting something more, something better in their place. The body above pressed against his back, a deep growl sounding next to his ear, and a moment later that was all that could be heard in the kitchen – groans of pleasure and skin slapping against skin. No, Hannibal Lecter did nothing quick, but he knew how to reward after his unhurried pace drew out a single angered plea from Will through gritted teeth. Will couldn’t think to say a word about his conditions with how good it felt, how good Hannibal felt inside him. Couldn’t find a single other thing on his mind other than _this_ and _now_ , other than the scalding air overflowing with the Alpha’s pheromones, the pressure building in him so quickly once again, or the harsh breathing he felt on the back of his neck. Not a peep of protest came from him when he felt Hannibal slow down and begin to swell, preparing for something Will’s body was not meant for but could take. An old memory of his girlfriend broke through the veil of static in his head, however inappropriate, and Will recalled what it was like to be knotted and why he shouldn’t want it as badly as he did. Never a pleasant start; Will bit down on his lip as the swell in him confused his senses, triggering nerves of pleasure but also pain.

It was in Hannibal’s interest for everyone involved to leave satisfied, an intention he demonstrated when the Beta released his first pained hiss. He reached between Will’s legs to stroke him, messing his senses entirely with both strain and pleasure. What ended up tipping Will over wasn’t the hand pumping him in some makeshift rhythm he felt inside him as well, but the teeth, sharp and dangerous, scraping down the vertebrae on his neck. A moment of fantasy slipped his control where Will imaged the teeth sinking in to him and leaving a mark. A slippery slope of connected dots, one thought leading to another and Will knew, as hot seeds released in him he knew he wanted it, wanted that bite, that bond. He wanted to be marked and to belong. It was the _who_ that mattered and he wanted him, he wanted Hannibal.

What a terrible decision to go through with.

They stayed joined for a good ten minutes, hot slick sliding down the Beta’s legs – a testament of his enjoyment, if the sounds he was making weren’t enough. White noise clouded his head for a long time, even after Hannibal pulled out, as he was sluggish to move, limbs still trembling. The Alpha pulled his trousers up and yanked him off the counter, holding Will still and upright against his chest. They stood like that for a moment, trapped in their radiating heat, catching breath.

“You can use the bathroom down the hall,” the Alpha’s voice was sweet and husky in Will’s ear, an arm extending to show him the way. “Do you need help?”

Will was adamant not to turn and catch sight of Hannibal. He was certain his own face would reveal too much now, and worse yet, the image of Dr. Lecter dishevelled, flushed, and sated would haunt him for many nights. The Beta enjoyed the view of the marble counter, prayed he wouldn’t see anything else. The less he could take home from this the better.

Will shook his head and shrugged the grip off, willing his feet into motion towards the bathroom. He licked his dry lips, chapped by the chilly weather, and tasted only wine. He couldn’t help wishing they had tasted something else. Someone.

Hannibal didn’t dare to move until he heard the door close and lock turn from his bathroom door. Only then did he unwind from his stiff posture, released the breath he held, and unclenched his fists that left his nails dipped in his own blood. He turned on the valve and leaned over the kitchen sink to splash chilling water over his face and neck. Hannibal never expected the situation to become so uniquely dangerous. A sense of pride comforted him because he pulled back. He managed to stave off every instinct in him that craved to hold Will down and sink his teeth in him. Mangled feelings that came and went like a seesaw, oscillating between tearing into him and tenderness. The Beta’s scent now burned into his nose, stuck to every surface of the kitchen and every piece of fabric he wore. Hannibal tapped the water off his face with a clean cloth and went upstairs to wash up. This may have ended well, this may have been a victory for him, but nothing changed the fact that he heavily underestimated the growing affection he had for the Beta.

His tongue burned with the taste of his sweetness. Hannibal wanted him and Hannibal was going to have him, a fact that wasn’t up for debate. But the road to having him was paved with glass tiles. His wants were at a disadvantage to his need to see his little project through. It was all, of course, for Will’s own good.

+++

Will had himself a long cold shower as he prepared to ignore the evening’s event out of existence. It wasn’t the first or the last time he yearned for something he shouldn’t want. He could live with that. It was a matter of getting used to it, something he already had extensive practice in.

When he stepped into the kitchen again, he was met with a potent citrusy smell. Dr. Lecter was cleaning the counter, sponge in one hand and a spray bottle of detergent in the other.

“I would invite you to stay for dinner, but I feel that would be a little inappropriate now,” Hannibal said with his familiar everyday smile and pointed towards Tupperware wrapped in nylon bags.

Will wasn’t one to refuse his cooking, not when it came as takeout. “It would be a _little_ inappropriate,” he said jokingly. “Thanks.”

Hannibal walked him to the door and before bidding their goodbyes, Will jumped in with a sudden need to iron things out.

“This was a terrible idea,” Will said, erasing hope from his voice. There was no room for it here. “We should forget it ever happened.”

“It could be worse,” Hannibal’s tone was deadly serious. Will raised an eyebrow at that, to which he offered an explanation, only mildly humorous in tone. “You could have been an Alpha.”

Will laughed in a short burst, nodded and left after thanking him for the food. The joke was a cruel one and the doctor was aware of it, much like Will. It served a purpose though, to remind Will there were people in this world that made his petty relationship problems pale in comparison. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Valentines. Much appropriate. Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Legit question - does this warrant a bump in rating? I just don't know.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9, where happiness is really hard to get and keep in this world. A back alley murder, a married couple's troubles, and Will's situation continues to deteriorate.

 

They were adults. Adults did these things sometimes and then they went on with their lives, because they were adults and they did these things with no strings attached. A warmth in his chest lingered, and the more Will was aware of it, the more he felt like he didn’t keep his end of the bargain all that well.

The Beta got home tired and sated, skin still feverish from the one-nighter he so shamelessly walked into. Could have been worse, the doctor said, and it could have. Will could have hoped for something more out of this, but he knew his place. Hannibal didn’t strike him as a man who would be interested in something this casual with him in particular, but looks were very deceiving with his therapist. It was amusing to find someone who wasn’t an open book to Will’s eyes, though the more he reflected on the encounter the more he feared there was some pity involved.

He fed the dogs and let them out for a quick midnight run. They were still outside when Will brushed his teeth, deep in thought about his schedule tomorrow. He needed to lie down soon, feeling himself too tired to even keep his eyes open in the brightly lit bathroom. He’d say he dreamt nothing, but that would likely be false. _Likely_ because he didn’t remember, not just his dreams but going to sleep or letting the dogs back into the house. He didn’t even remember the moment when he stopped brushing his teeth.

It came to him in waves; the freezing cold biting his skin through the thin fabric he slept in, sharp blades of grass with frozen dew digging into his soles, the worried barks of dogs behind him. The sun was too bright to be coming from his window, the chill too cold to be morning frost leaking through isolated walls, and his eyes opened to a sight of trees a few feet in front of him, a strikingly different sight than the usual white ceiling. He jerked and turned so quick it threw him off balance, legs stiff and wobbly, hurt from the trek over gravel and grass and twigs. He landed on his hands and knees and the pack of dogs barking after him rushed quickly to his side. Will kneeled there, shaking for the longest time until he composed enough to get up, eyes slowly getting used to the daylight, until he was sure this was not a dream and that he was no longer sleeping. Several of his big furry companions crowded around his kneeling frame, rubbing their fur against him as he shook from the cold. Will could see his house, it wasn’t that far, door left wide open.

It took the Beta long and painful minutes to get inside, and as soon as he felt the carpet under his feet, he sat down in the middle of his living room feeling dizzy and unstable and utterly sleep deprived for a man who surprisingly had a good night of it. Not that he even remembered it, but his bed was a mess, so sleep was had. A headache cleaved him in two and he struggled to find aspirin, chewed on three all at once and he waited still on the floor, next to the heater with the dogs. Waited for blinding pain to pass and allow him to stand up again and get to the bathroom.

 _Stress,_ Will told himself as he sank into a hot bath that took too long to stop him from shaking, but the comforting mantra couldn’t hold water anymore. He had to visit a doctor, a neurologist, something!

The handles on his wristwatch showed 9:40. He calmed himself with a good long dunk in the bathtub, picked up all the pieces and put them back in their proper place. A day like any other day waited for him and he had things to do, places to be, obligation that came first. Tests, classes, hospital visits. Finding out he’d be stricken with something incurable and deadly was really the last thing he wanted that day.

Will scrubbed himself clean once again, just in case. He worked with too many sharp-nosed people to risk it. He caught a glimpse of himself in the steaming mirror, the scruffy beard on his face suddenly seeming a little too overgrown and unruly. The razor worked with a rare precision that morning, trimming the hairs to something that looked a lot neater, complementing even. The blowdryer found some use too, after long months of neglect and dust collection. Will was in the midst of combing his hair when the thought occurred, when he for a moment considered getting a haircut and maybe even a clean shave.  

The Beta growled in frustration, threw the comb in the sink and left the bathroom altogether. The last thing he should have been this upset by that morning, but the implications were clear; he was grooming himself to impress someone he had no intention of seeing that day, because he’d like that, wouldn’t he? The Alpha would appreciate it. Might make him smile when he’d see Will. Might make him more interested.

The dogs were quiet and still as he kicked shoes out of his way and stomped around the house irradiated with anger. The smaller ones covered their heads with their paws. Picking out clothes was even worse. Will’s hands kept going for those crisp new shirts he only had for special occasions. He overcooked his eggs, chewed down his medicine without a drop of water, and threw half the coffee down the drain for tasting like utter shit. The dogs were treated to a substantially more pleasant breakfast.

Alana was the first to notice he took more than five minutes to look himself in the mirror. Yesterday’s fiasco brought her out to John Hopkins’ with a vase of flowers of her own. Abigail’s room started to look alive, though the girl’s situation remained unchanged. A one-eyed teddy sat on the nightstand.

“You look good,” the Omega commented as she dragged a chair to Will’s and took a seat. There was just a fraction of hesitation in her movement, a moment when she considered leaving, yet didn’t. Unusual for her, and it caught Will by surprise more than the compliment.  “Had a good night of sleep finally?”

“Yes,” he said without a second thought. It wasn’t a lie; it took time to distance his mind from what happened in the morning, but he did feel rested. It was the odd hole in his memory and the sleepwalking that messed him up and left him with echoes of pain in his feet and his head. Her presence brought his mind off those things, a comforting and soothing company he did not often enjoy. It was strange to have her here, this close to him, idly chatting away minutes like they never had before. Simple things like weather and work and Jack Crawford’s hilarious treatment of the new _janitors._

“I thought of coming here with a book to read her, but I can’t stay long today. Maybe you should talk to her,” she suggested. “It would do her good.”

Will chuckled darkly. “I don’t think she wants to hear about my problems.”

“Does anyone hear your problems?” Alana looked at him the same way Dr. Lecter would on occasions, impassive and prodding, a therapist looking for truth where they may not get it in words.

“You recommended him,” the Beta offered a sly grin, “Are you doubting his capabilities?”

“Of course not. Your sincerity on the other hand...” She remembered him most as a man constantly on the verge of a breakdown. She found out little of what really troubled him back then. Liquor helped him cope, but it also kept him unusually quiet. Alana liked to think she did _some_ good at least, with her visits. Mostly she just hoped The Ripper would never make it back into Will’s life again.

Peppering Will with pleas to talk more openly with his therapist would get her nowhere. He never did react well to even the barest trace of condescending behaviour. Instead, she turned to ask something that had lingered on her mind for most of her sitting time. “What are you on, Will?” Alana smiled but her eyes narrowed with interest.

“I’m sorry?” The Beta chuckled, caught off guard by the question that made no sense at first. “Are you asking me if I’m on drugs?” 

“You’re on _something_ ,” she looked at her watch to offer a more precise point. “You’ve been sitting in a room with two Omegas for how long? And yet I’m not hearing you sneeze.”

Of all the things happening in his life, Will failed to take note of his repulsion. He was so used to its effects, like breathing, he would barely notice them until they would get violent. The discovery caught him in a moment of surprise before he answered. “That, yeah. I am on something. Something that, uhh, seems to be working pretty well so far,” the Beta spoke with some bewilderment. He kept to the schedule, but never hoped for actual results.

“We’ll put that to the real test,” the Omega got up, readying herself to leave else she be late for work. “Next time I’m going through a heat, I’ll be sure to drop by your classroom, see if we can get another Bella Crawford incident.”

The wink got to him and Will had to hide his face in the palm of his hand as he laughed. Alana liked that story almost more than he did. “Be sure to wear your least favourite shoes,” the Beta warned.

“No such thing in my closet. Keep it in you, Graham. I won’t be so forgiving.”

Banter between friends, all in good fun. Will could see himself get used to that, her more pronounced presence in his life. Though it did come at an awkward time. Yesterday’s tryst was bound to leave Will remembering the Alpha’s touch for a long while. He rubbed the back of his neck, some stray muscle protesting to his poor sitting habits, and his fingers brushed over a small patch of hardened skin. It felt like a scab and it perplexed Will for a whole two seconds before he remembered the teeth resting against his neck, his stomach dropping, and all the will he had to muster not to whimper and play right to the Alpha’s sensibilities. Not because he wanted to, but because he wanted it, those teeth deep in his flesh and a bond with a man who was too good to not have a closet full of skeletons.

There it was, that problem again. First he primed himself, and now his thoughts wondered in a direction unfit for a simple fling. Simple form one side at least, and unfortunately not his.

Will rested his elbows on the girl’s bed, face smushed in his hands as he groaned. Like he didn’t have enough problems to worry about in life, actual problems, not this romance shit. He peeked at the girl through his fingers, Abigail Hobbs, age 17, teenager. Teenagers liked that, didn’t they? They liked talking about that sort of stuff – the ripe age for crushes and dates and gossips.

“All right,” Will shrugged and sat back in his chair, throwing any and all fucks he had to give out the window. The room was empty after all. “Let’s talk about my problems, sure.”

+++

Beverly found him that day in a light rarely seen; gray tweed jacket still on, shirt a little nicer, maybe even new, hair a little tamed. Will looked unwound, strain lifted from his shoulders. He lounged in his chair and cycled through images of grisly murder with a face that was attentive but relaxed. He seemed indifferent to her presence again, fully immersed in his job but lacking that pallid stiffness he always carried around. She walked behind him, sniffing the air but caught nothing bar the shower gel’s synthetic scent. He took a bath, or two, or three. Clearly he wanted it hidden. Betas were tricky things. Unlike Omegas, to whom scents would cling like glue, Betas could have one shower and a crazy night was all but erased from their skin. But Beverly knew; she had an eye for these things but she couldn’t quite place Will at a strip bar after the hospital shooting. Maybe something a little more classy with someone a little more familiar.

She sat on his desk, sipping her cup of coffee and looked at him with a cheeky grin until Will noticed it, or her presence at all.

“Fun night, huh? Where’d you go out?”

Will blinked, eyebrows knitting. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, house party, eh? Your house or theirs?”

The confusion on Will’s face grew.

“I bet it was theirs,” she took another sip as she pondered the idea. Will just didn’t strike her like a guy who’d bring flings home. “Do I know them? Trade you a crime scene for a name.”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Graham, I’m too good for that. But unfortunately I can’t hold the crime scene hostage either. Come, you’re gonna love this one.”

She finished her cup and threw it in the trash from where she sat. He’d been looking at pictures of the copy cat killer like he was intending to marry them. Perhaps a fresh new scene was what he needed, and they didn’t come fresher than this. Or gruesome.

A massacre in an alleyway. Will got the short of it from Beverly and couldn’t imagine why they’d need him to take a look at the scene. It was pretty self explanatory. But Jack’s face was stone cold as he stood there on the street, back turned to the scene of the crime. Very few lingered around it, two men snapping photos before retreating, and Will noticed almost immediately all the Alpha’s were standing back, none close to the alleyway.

“High profile victim,” Jack told him. “A doctor, worked for the correction facility, namely the sanatorium wing.” Will was starting to see where the suspicions came from. “It’s all yours, fresh as a daisy.”

Jack stayed behind, everyone did. The murky alleyway was all his and the further he walked, the better he understood why all the Alphas stayed back. The scent in the air was strong and opulent – not the blood splattered over the walls, or the bags of putrid trash laying on the sides, but that very particular scent that stayed in the air for a long time after two Alphas fought. An exhausting and frightening linger, the smell of apex predators in a fight. Will would not have proceeded if he didn’t know for sure a dead man lay at the end. A dead Alpha to be precise, his head bashed in to the point where facial identification would have been impossible was it not for the man’s wallet. The rest of him wasn’t spared either, insides torn open with something sharp, a knife probably, but then hands were used to break through the chest wall and the rib cage. Intestines were ripped out and scattered in fury. All of it; his stomach, his liver, his heart, his lungs, all scattered on the pavement. No artistic merit here, only rage. An unquantifiable anger.

Will crouched next to the victim to have a better look at what was left of him. Madness struck him. Whoever did this lost control during the assault, but the act was not random. A knife _was_ used to cut him open. This was not a matter of wrong time and wrong place, as it so often was. There was premeditation at work here, a passion in it, and yet little care for safety and anonymity. They weren’t afraid of getting caught, maybe hoping for it before everything got too far out of hand. The perpetrator saw this man deserving of what came to him, but he wasn’t the only one and he won’t be the only one.

Footsteps behind him reeled Will back in, but it was the sound of a voice that broke his focus. “Is it just me or has it become easier for you to look?”

Jack shouldn’t have been there, the air still thick with aggressive pheromones, but he had to, didn’t he? Couldn’t leave Will a moment more to finish his job. It wasn’t the first or the last time he disrupted his focus, and Will really should have said something about that. Maybe it was the air around them, maybe the Beta’s sleeping habits were making him reckless and irritated, but he had trouble finding calm politeness when his mouth opened.

“Can you not do that, please?” Half the words came through his teeth. “I’ll tell you when I’m done.”

Will looked up from his crouching position and what replaced the irritated look on his face with abject dread was the way Jack pinned him down with just his eyes. “This is the wrong time and the worst place to grow some balls and talk shit to me, Graham.”

Jack really shouldn’t have been there, and for the briefest moment Will was afraid his recklessness might cost him a broken nose at best. But Jack just stood there firm like stone, fists tight in the pockets of his long coat.

“I-It’s the,” Will stood up and gestured at the air around them, but his tongue tangled. “Let’s not talk here.” The Beta avoided looking at his boss as he bolted for the police line. The Alpha followed him with unhurried steps.

“What can you tell me?” Jack was seemingly ignoring Will’s blunder in the alleyway, much more interested in the actual crime. The Beta was thankful so he played along, dropping his intents of apology.

“Definitely premeditated,” Will looked back at the dark passage beyond the police line, “possibly revenge driven. Perpetrator’s DNA will be littered all over the place, but that’s obvious. I think there will be more though, this doesn’t feel over.” He thought about the killer and the madness that plagued them, a stale old friend they could control for long enough to get this done. “How does an Alpha leave the sanatorium wing?”

“They don’t,” Jack frowned. “What are you implying?”

“I’m implying one did, and they’re responsible for this.”

+++

“Will’s been a little,” Jack stopped, looking for words. “He isn’t on his best. Easily aggravated. I can tell he’s not getting much sleep, and frankly the connections he’s made with the copy cat case have come out of the blue. I’m officially worried, have been since he mentioned The Ripper.”

Across him sat Dr. Lecter. He called him into his office to have a talk about Will, or as much of a talk as the doctor was willing to have. Dr. Lecter paid little attention to who paid the bills – a patient was still a patient and rules of discretion applied. Mostly.

“You knew, from the moment you walked into his classroom, that you would be putting Will in a potentially destructive environment,” he said, not an accusation but a reminder for Agent Crawford.

“There were lives at stakes,” Jack spoke defensively. He leaned back into his chair, eyes stuck on the ceiling as he thought back to the case that brought Will back into the field. “It’s the Hobbs case, isn’t it?”

The doctor steepled his hands as he debated with himself over his next words. The silence maddened Jack as he watched the other man struggle with ethics. Clearly there was something important on his mind. “He can’t stop thinking about the life he took, and the life he fail to save,” Dr. Lecter finally said. “It troubles his dreams and on a very personal level. He’s not immune to social prejudice, Jack. He feels his worth and competence restricted and measured for being a Beta.”

Jack Crawford frowned with surprise, unable to connect Will with such problems. He never thought of them though, always seeing Will as a man at ease with himself. He could have been wrong. “I have prescribed medication to relieve his stress and help him sleep, but I don’t think he’s taking them,” Dr. Lecter continued and Jack was about to question further, but the doctor stopped him with a wave of a hand. “He’s hiding something and I can’t tell you more than I know.” He did not bother mentioning Jack should keep this conversation to himself. That was obvious to both men. The doctor did offer one last piece of advice, “What I would suggest is that you don’t overwork him.”

Jack chuckled. Will overworked himself with his offer and Jack wasn’t going to let it go to waste. His mind was too valuable, too good at what he did. People were alive because of him and if that ment the Beta would have a shitty sleeping cycle then so be it. Jack knew it was Will’s guilt talking him into all that work, found out as much from the doctor, but that changed very little in his eyes.

“Do I have cause to worry? About his Ripper allegations?”

“No,” Dr. Lecter told him as they left Agent Crawford’s office. “Will is of sane mind, if only a little burned out at the moment. Old ghosts don’t haunt him.” 

Will was on his way to his boss’ office with an apology on his mind. He didn’t want to leave it at their last exchange. They met in the halls of the Academy, but Jack was not alone.

“Later,” he tapped Will on the shoulder as he passed him by. “Progress on the case. I’ll need you in my office in ten minutes.”

The Beta watched him go with a sigh. He was hoping to leave early today, or at least not to run into his psychiatrist. Will found the latter to be a lot less unpleasant than expected, but he didn’t have to bite back a smile because the question he had had him suspicious. “Were you talking about me?”

“Yes,” they fell into an easy stride towards the exit. “Nothing for you to worry about,” Dr. Lecter added, wiping the concern off Will’s face. “Jack is troubled by your behaviour, though. He’s noticed you a little sleepless, but mostly what concerns him is that you may be thinking of The Ripper again.”

Will felt rather alone on his thoughts about the copy cat. The only person that looked like they were buying his story was, ironically, the person that was paid to listen to him. “I really haven’t,” the Beta admitted. “I’ve been trying to distance myself from it, hoping for a fresh perspective.”

“No such luck?” Dr. Lecter was ever curious about his cases in a genuine way few could be. He liked listening to them almost as much as Will enjoyed talking about them, bouncing ideas between each other.

“I haven’t really got the time to properly revisit it yet.” They stopped at the exit and Will lift his glasses to pinch his nose, shutting his eyes for a moment. “Classrooms keep me busy enough as it is.”

“Are you heading somewhere after work?”

“I’m sorry?” It caught Will unprepared, another instance of a question he had no idea where it was coming from. “Home preferably, to bed,” he added and curiously asked, “Why?”

Dr. Lecter gestured at him, face for a moment seeming to resist a smile. “You look a lot more put together than usual today.”

“Ah,” Will rolled his shoulders and formed a quick lie. He knew who he was talking too, but he knew how to make it convincing. It was all in the steady eyes. “I was advised to do so. Had some important guests on my lecture today.”

“Good advice,” Hannibal searched his coat for car keys. “It suits you well.”

A smile, a goodbye and he left, leaving Will satisfied with the nonchalance of their rapport. Or maybe it was the compliment.

+++

Rena Marsden came to them after the FBI knocked on her door, oddly cooperative and already prepared to leave. Prepared even for handcuffs but she didn’t get those. The Beta now sat in Jack’s office, both him and Will listening to her confession. They knew a part of the story already; the forensic analysis told them as much.

“Ellen was, uhh, my spouse was locked for grievously assaulting her boss. He barely survived, but it didn’t help her case much. I couldn’t tell you what spurred her, I just knew she hated her job. But you don’t get to choose when you’re raising a kid.”

The woman held herself incredibly collected, spine straight and pose prideful, but the eyes gave her away. Friends and family ended up giving the Beta a lot of shit. Accusations of incompetence, how it wouldn’t have happened if Ellen had a _proper_ mate to calm her. The accusations even shifted to their child. The attack happened two years after the Alpha gave birth to a son. An unusual choice of a mother, rarely taken, but Rena was infertile and Ellen didn’t care about the studies condemning the female Alpha pregnancy. It wasn’t easy getting a child, the fertility treatment raking up quite a sum of their savings, and Rena had doubts about managing two Alphas at the dinner table. A joke really, their son turned out to be the sweetest thing.

“They took her in and they put her on those drugs. To calm her down, they said. Oh they calmed her down all right,” Rena spoke through her teeth, anger spilling in her words. “They calmed her until she couldn’t speak anymore, wouldn’t even look me in the eyes. She barely registered my presence.” She looked away from the men listening to her story as her face started to crack and she couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. “Her son doesn’t even know her. They turned her into a fucking plant! Eight years and fifty-six days she spent in there and then they call me to say she’s got a brain tumour. I fought with the institution to have her released home and then I fought with banks to have her treated. You know what a specialist told me?” She turned to them, face a little calmer but the tears never stopped. “The drugs. The drugs to keep her calm. A commonly knows safety hazard that could affect one in every fifty inmates.”

Jack and Will exchanged a look, the statistic a mystery to them.

The Beta opened her purse and took out a handkerchief. She wiped her nose and the tears off her face, and then she finished her story with a calm and cold voice. “She had a year left, tops. That was the prognosis we received nine months ago. I paid off the nurse that did regular visits, convinced her I’d be taking care of her medication. And then I took her off the drugs.” Rena smiled and she looked genuinely happy. “I heard her voice. Her son finally had a talk with her. She got up from the wheelchair. I finally had my mate back and if that makes me a criminal then that’s what I’ll be.”

“She killed someone,” Jack said. “She’s going to kill more.”

Rena shrugged and looked away from them, out the window this time, face uncaring for the loss of lives. “They killed her first.”

Jack didn’t ask any more questions. Instead he asked Will what he thought of her confession when they stepped out of the office.

“The only thing she’s guilty of is enabling, if we can even call it that.” He looked back through the glass door where the woman sat almost peacefully. Will couldn’t find it in himself to accuse her of much else. She was so emotionally transparent Jack didn’t even need an opinion. He already had his own, though as a married man who felt himself clouded by empathy, it was worth a check.

“No,” Will assured him. “She didn’t plan it with her wife. She didn’t know.”

Jack took a deep breath. What he had in mind wasn’t going to be easily achieved, but damned if he wouldn’t try. “I’ll see if I can issue a non-lethal manhunt.”

The decree was short lived. The upper echelons of the administration allowed it, but as soon as police vehicles reached the third person on the list of possible targets, it fell apart. A male nurse killed in his apartment, his girlfriend an unfortunate casualty of rage fighting for life as the ambulance took her away.

“She didn’t finish the job,” Will said as he looked over the crime scene. The nurse mutilated and beaten, but incomparable to the scene left in the alleyway. Body was still warm, blood barely coagulated. “She got distracted. By the girlfriend, by us... She’s got to be close by, Jack.”

And she was, very close.

Will couldn’t forget the look in Mrs. Marsden’s eyes. She didn’t beg to have her wife back in one piece for one last good bye, but she didn’t have to. Even Jack saw it in her.

Will had asked him on their drive over why he’d gone through such trouble. _I don’t know how Betas experience bonds_ , Jack had told him, _but if it’s anything like what my wife and I have then I can more than sympathise._ But that was just Jack, and a none-lethal manhunt had been stripped as soon as more blood was shed.

That’s why Will didn’t call for backup when two officers tumbled down the stairs and a third one got dragged to the roof. That’s why he put his gun down as another got aimed at a young trembling officer’s head. A blood-coated hand held the young officer’s neck in a tight grip, eyes vivid with contained madness and pain, so much physical pain from the cancer eating her away. Only an Alpha could walk around in such a condition.

Will tried to appeal to her better nature, get her to drop the offence. He brought up her wife and kid and how they still wanted time with her, how her wife loved her regardless of her actions. Keeping fright out of his voice was the hardest part because Will was afraid, rightfully so, and of many things – afraid of failing, of dying, of getting an officer in training killed. It didn’t even matter if he did a good job, the Alpha could smell it on him anyway, but he tried as he held his hands up and talked.

“I’ve got very little time left,” the Alpha interrupted him, her voice taut and raspy like it was barely holding back the monster underneath. “I don’t intend to spend it locked away again.” It was really just the death of the doctor that was her goal, the nurse being a cherry on top, a _might as well_. “I’ve said my goodbyes. My family doesn’t need to see me like this.”

The young officer got pushed with great strength onto Will before he could do anything stupid like tackle her. He couldn’t even finish the words he yelled out. “Don’t—”

That was the last thing he remembered – the flash of a gun, its sound echoing off the rooftop as the young officer clung to him, a long spray of red streaks pouring out of the Alpha’s skull while gravity pulled her down – before blinking and finding himself in Dr. Lecter’s waiting room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) I didn't have the time to give the chapter the proper look over for mistakes I usually do. Sorry!  
> 2) I'd keep in mind the married couple's woes if I were you. A relevant little implication.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 - Will lost time after a traumatic event and wound up in his doctor's office, because OF COURSE HE DOES. His problems and worry escalate and Hannibal starts to wonder if he fucked up (IMPOSSIBLE!!1).

 

Miss Gabby Bale was having some issue with the tenant and her nosy disposition. Too curious for her own good, some people didn’t know when to stop snooping around that locked basement. Gabby was a smart woman though – all her tenants had a tendency to stay unregistered, students, and of few or no family. Precaution she’d say she never took on purpose, no-no, that’d imply premeditation and she was not like that. Spontaneity was the word Gabby liked to use; it’s how she described her art. Subconsciously she was a creature of habit, just like everyone else. Hannibal never exposed that aspect of her character – a rare case of sympathy. He liked her well enough from the way she talked about her passions and fought her ticks to stay courtly in his presence.

Miss Bale was leaving, her hour done. She had her hand wrapped around the door knob just as frantic knocking came from the other side. A wonderful piece of coincidence, really. Gabby gasped with surprise when the door opened and, instead of leaving, she found a man crashing against her that seemed to be going through a nervous breakdown. He grabbed hold of her arms in confusion, called out a name that was not hers as his eyes darted over her frame, expecting to find someone taller and significantly more male. Gabby’s nostrils flared and she threw a sidelong glance towards Dr. Lecter. There’d be talk of this on their next appointment.

“So-sorry,” Will said with fractured words and let go of her, stepping aside to let her pass. She didn’t say a thing, merely gave him a look-over and stepped around the Beta. Silence prevailed until she was out of the waiting room.

His appalling behaviour and odd condition manifested a curious blip on Hannibal’s mind that he wanted to explore immediately, only a shade worried. Though he barged in rather rudely, the Beta looked alarmed and shaken, and he came at a time he didn’t have a scheduled appointment. Hannibal’s nose caught the smell of blood clinging to him, not his own, as Will skirted past him into the office without a _hello_ or even an apology. His first words were telling though, and long due.

“I’m sleepwalking and I just lost about three hours of my conscious time.”

“Come in,” Hannibal told the empty hallway as he took a deep breath and closed the door. Such discourtesy grievously irked him, and yet he bit back his complaints when he turned and saw Will clinging to his desk for stability with shaking hands. “Sit,” he nudged him with a gentle push towards the leather chair at the head of his desk. Hannibal sat against the wooden table and looked down at the Beta fidgeting in his seat. “How much worse did it have to get for you to come clean?”

Will’s frame was hunched over, elbows resting on his knees and his hands twined together in front of his mouth. His eyes looked up somewhat regretful. “I-It was just sleepwalking for a while. I chalked it up to stress, and now... I d-don’t know how I got here.” The last thing he saw was still fresh on his mind, only a blink away, vivid and shocking in all its colour and brutality. “A woman killed herself in front of me, and then I’m here,” he looked at Hannibal for answers, eyes wide and begging for explanations.

The Alpha checked out the window and saw Will’s car parked in the driveway, then he checked Will’s phone; no calls from Jack. Clearly he didn’t just disappear from the scene, but three hours did get blocked from his head like nothing. He got the younger man to take of his jacket and relax a bit, poured him a finger of fine scotch to calm and warm him. “Something’s wrong with me,” no drink or comfort could help Will’s voice from cracking. He sounded terrified.

Hannibal had a checklist prepared for this moment, only a few adjustments needed. The mystery of his condition was only Will’s problem. “Sleepwalkers tend to demonstrate a difficulty handling aggression. Are you experiencing difficulty with aggressive feelings?”

“A little?” The Beta’s shoulders slinked. “Lack of rest is what I’d call the cause of that, really.”

Will was only half right. The news pleased Hannibal and he crossed a point of his list. “You saw something terrible happen and your lost time could be a form of disassociation. A survival mechanism for a psyche that endures great stress and repeated abuse.” Will frowned, mouthing the doctor’s last word with a perplexed face. “Yes Will, abuse,” Hannibal pinned him with a strict look. “That’s what you’re doing to yourself with this job. It’s a stress you don’t need yet you keep exposing yourself to it.”

“I save lives,” the Beta sounded defensive. “No one’s forcing me into this.”

“You guilt yourself into a position you don’t enjoy and you chose to ignore it,” the Alpha’s voice raised a notch, as did the disapproval in his voice, testing out Will’s reaction. “That’s the abuse I’m talking about.”

There was an awkward pause in which, for a moment, it looked like Will would abdicate and clam up. “I save lives,” he repeated louder and with more conviction, shaking off a layer of frailty he came through the door with as he straightened his spine.

“What about your life, Will?” Hannibal switched his approach again, voice softer and soothing, his hand laid firm on the Beta’s shoulder. Too close to the crook of his neck to be an entirely innocent touch, but Will didn’t shy from it. He leaned into it instead, unconsciously. “I’m worried about you,” the Alpha squeezed lightly at the knots of rigid muscles under his palm. “What if you lose time and hurt yourself or someone else?”

Another pause and Will mellowed in compliancy when they locked eyes, his frame a little less jittery under the hand resting on his shoulder, trusting. “M-maybe I should get a brain scan. You think it could be neurological?”

“I don’t believe your problem is neurological,” a little smile to make things a drop better. “Perhaps encephalitis? Some of your symptoms fit the category.” He moved his hand and rested the back of it against Will’s cheek. “You seem a little flushed.” He did feel a bit warmer, but not by much. The degrees would rise though.

“Is that better or worse than a brain tumour?”

“Depends,” Hannibal sat back and fished his phone from the desk. “Let me arrange you a medical exam. I have an acquaintance at a private medical centre that could get the job done much quicker and with far less fuss.”

The Beta looked at him with such a grateful expression that Hannibal had to remind himself that, no, reaching out and combing fingers through those soft curls was not an appropriate reaction. Net yet. He noticed it yesterday and he noticed it today as well; the combed yet wind ruffled hair, stubble tamed and neat around his jaw line, and a shirt just new enough to catch attention. Will caught attention, but only from those that were bound to look from the start.

The Beta was not hard to convince to go lie down in the next room for a rest before going home, still shaken and not in the right frame of mind to drive. Hannibal woke him after his next patient left, but not before he heard the profile mumble words in his sleep, none of which he could catch the meaning of. He was agitated, but not enough for Hannibal to break his observation and wake him.

“What were you dreaming?” He asked as Will drank the coffee Hannibal prepared for him before going.

“Was I talking in my sleep?” The Alpha nodded and Will finished his coffee entirely before saying anything else. “We’re going to have to talk about The Ripper one of these days.” A sigh and he turned to grab his coat while a smile twitched on Hannibal’s lips.

Hannibal phoned an old friend, and afterwards he set to work. It was that hour when most would settle in front of the TV with their loved ones, or consider an early bed time, when Hannibal went down to his basement with a lovely idea on his mind. Yes, Will and he would talk about The Ripper and they would soon, but why not make it even sooner?

Five days ago, a census taker had some snide remarks to share under his breath about Hannibal and his lifestyle. That evening, the Alpha took a scalpel to the man’s skin while his eyes darted in panic. Paralytic agent dripped into his system while Bach played softly in the upper levels of the house. The doctor was quite capable of multitasking – on one hand he drew dashes in his mind over segments of skin that would have to peel first, on another he planned the location, and still he had the processing power to consider his social gatherings and work for the next day.

He was most curious about Miss Bale’s comments, and when they sat down for their hour, neither beat around the bush.

“Did you smell something odd?” Hannibal asked when she brought up the Beta on her own incentive in a curious way.

“Conflicting.” The Omega walked back and forth around the office. “Interesting.” Her face was unreadable up until the price moment it wasn’t, and a smile sharp as a knife glistened across her face. “More than usual, I mean. Quite lovely,” Miss Bale shot him a look that felt too knowing. “You sure you don’t mind losing patients like that?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind his FBI connections?” It left him fast like a reflex. Hannibal was painfully aware of how defensive his retort sounded, at least to him if not to Miss Bale. If the Omega noticed, she didn’t show it, instead changing her tone from calculating to playful.

She rubbed her hands and sat down on the edge of the armchair, leaning forward to close some of their distance. “The internet has a lot of dirt on him,” Gabby spoke with a glint in her eyes and a smile still creeping. “Interesting dirt. Almost as interesting as his biology. It has me very curious. I’m even considering a special approach, something that will catch the eyes.”

Hannibal was going to ask but she made a zipping motion over her lips. “And no, Dr. Lecter, his connections aren’t a problem. He wouldn’t be a first.”

A conflict of interest was strange to the man and the last thing he expected to feel in the silence of his office once Miss Bale left. Thoughts that kept tossing and turning uninvited. The first time in a long, long while the Alpha felt a very real sense of worry, although he did not let doubt creep in. But the worry was enough to have him abandon his paperwork and consider in deep thought what waited for Will. For his Beta.

All of it was a gift for him, for Will’s own good, but the experiment didn’t start with as much altruism, if any at all. Hannibal checked the schedule of the Beta’s medication, all the crossed dates and spent shots, and he considered the thought of failure. It existed from the start, Hannibal wasn’t blind to it, but before it didn’t feel like a loss. Before, failure was just a matter of statistics and met with indifference. Now, the image of Will feverish and weakened was a painful inevitability. What could kill him first – the drugs, or the predator he pointed in his direction?

There was no indifference in him now, and Hannibal snapped his notes shut with a quiet anger. Too late, other than to put faith and money on his favourite dog and hope for a win.

+++

Will woke in his bed zipped tightly in a sleeping bag. It felt uncomfortably close to a straitjacket, but not waking in the middle of the woods was a more desirable outcome. The nights were becoming colder still. His dogs started sleeping around his bed and no amount of hisses and raised voices and forced relocation kept them away. Did it matter much, anyway? His house was filled with dog hair to begin with. He’d have to step over or on them to get out of bed and maybe their agitated barks would wake him up. The Beta hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said to Jack when he picked him up for some work. The drive to Chesapeake Bay was long and Will wanted to test waters about yesterday’s event.

Jack kept his eyes steady on the road as he asked, “Sorry about what?”

“I... I wasn’t feeling myself yesterday.”

“Of course you weren’t. Someone shot themselves in front of you.”

“Yeah,” Will played along, “Did I seem fine to you?”

“I sent you home for a reason.” Jack turned his eyes away from the road, looking critical, “Something you want to tell me, Will?”

It gnawed him that no one noticed the state he was in. “No, no, just—how was Mrs. Marsden? How did she take it?”

“You didn’t want to see that, trust me,” the Alpha’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, head gently shaking. “But what you’re about to see is much worse. Hope you got your beauty sleep, Will. You might not have it again for a while.”

Jack Crawford wasn’t one to shy away from violent scenes of crime. But violence was one thing, and grotesqueness another. He called it a display worthy of the Grand Guignol before turning away, but Will didn’t seem to agree.

“Too gauche for him,” the Beta said as he passed under the police line to have a better look.

Like a man clawing out to escape a fatal trap, this one clawed his way out of his own skin. A moment caught in stillness, preserved under a large oak tree with thin fishing lines and a hook or two in appropriate places. Oddly enough, they seemed to be placed only for show. The statuesque form held shape and position with what looked like silicone injections and a resin coating. From afar the modifications were barely noticeable, giving off the illusion of a nude man in a kneeling position, tearing his own skin off and emerging from it. No blood around, that would be messy, all of it drained elsewhere. A familiar surgical hand did this, exquisite perfectionism with flaying seen in the almost graceful way thick layers of skin draped down the victim’s shoulders, his face entirely unmasked and stuck in a scream. Signature foreign teeth in his mouth were clear to see for the world. It was hard for Will to think of it as anything other than impressive. Grotesque, obscene, villainous, and yet impressive. That was the point, wasn’t it? All along this was about attention, a grand maestro’s return to the big scene, but also perhaps about a very specific kind of attention.  

Jack waited behind the police line, though Will had a feeling it was mostly because he didn’t want to get close to the scene. “Someone new?”

“Someone old,” Will said. “Fangs in his mouth.”

“What the hell is he doing now? This has nothing to do with Hobbs.”

“It never had anything to do with Hobbs to begin with. This is the copy cat trying to get someone’s attention. The punishment does not fit the crime,” Will looked back at the victim, another guy that should have picked his words better. “This is peacocking. Attention seeking. It’s been that from the start. The Ripper has his eyes on someone and he’s trying to...” Will’s eyes bore into the scene. “Get in touch? Communicate with another killer? Guide? I don’t know.”

He saw Jack’s scrutinising look and returned the favour. “Yes, The Ripper, I’m not wrong about that.”

“You keep saying that but I don’t see the connection. And the more you say about the copy cat, which isn’t much to begin with, the less your connection makes sense,” Jack’s voice was strict and left no room for wiggling out. “Do not come with these claims publically, Will. And tell me something new here.”

“All right, fine,” Will got confrontational, voice flaring. He was not wrong about this and the lack of faith in his skill, the job he set out to do, was vexing. “You’re the head of the Behavioural Science Unit, Jack. Why don’t you come up with your own conclusions if you don’t like mine? Go ahead, look at the damn scene, tell me what _you_ see.”

The forensics team disappeared from sight and eerie stillness washed over the field, like the calm before a particularly nasty storm. Will regretted his tone immediately. These gouts of irritation were so unlike him, and for a change he actually had sleep today and couldn’t blame restlessness on it.

“I do have my own conclusions, Will.” Jack wasn’t quite yelling, there was restraint in his voice, but he was loud enough to make ears ring and the Beta want to shrink and disappear. “Number one, you’re stepping out of line. Number two, you’re not doing your god damn job well enough!” Now he was definitely yelling and Will had to look away and take a step back, but the distance was immediately closed. “You want to quit, that’s fine by me, but don’t waste my precious time like this. Now either get lost or get behind that line and come talk to me when you have something worth sharing!”

Will stood his ground long enough to give a nod against the protest of the tightening muscles in the back of his neck. An old reaction to stress and fear. He stayed alone behind the line for a long time, just him and the strung up mannequin. It should have been unnerving, the calm he found while he looked over the body from different angles, stringing ideas into place until they fit as perfectly as facts would. An animal howling in the distance brought him back to the real world, like waking from a dream, and with it the gut churning sense of unease. He immediately checked his watch, wondering if he had lost some time again.

“I’ve never witnessed anybody talk to Jack like that,” Beverly ambushed him on their ride back to the station. Will couldn’t stomach riding with Jack after how he behaved, so he took a ride with the forensics team in their SUV.

“I was out of line,” he responded, still looking a little pasty from the memory. Zeller and Price made praying hands for him in the front seat, a little in sympathy and a little in jest.

“More like out of your mind!” Beverly seemed proud. “My ears rang like they did the first time I had him yell at me.” She saw the Beta tilt his head in wonder and added, “Oh yeah. Two Alphas in the field, sparks are bound the fly, and not the sexy kind. I felt like he was stepping on my toes so I stepped on his. I got thoroughly washed for my arrogance. I wanted to hide under the table like the first time I heard my mother say the f-word.” Beverly was grinning wildly while going over memories most back at Quantico would describe as traumatic. “It’s practically an initiation ritual at this point,” she elbowed Will. “Welcome to the club.”

Zeller turned and added in his experience. “I pride myself for not breaking into tears when it happened.” The statistics of Betas Jack managed to send into tears made that a badge of honour.

Price stayed quiet even when all ears waited for his input. “Oh no, no initiation for me,” he shook his head. “I’m an Omega, bosses don’t yell at me.”

Their chat diverted into an odyssey of Jimmy Price’s work history, from early youth to middle age, and his many quests to piss someone off to the point of yelling. He got fired, certainly, but never yelled at.

“Are you okay, though?” Beverly leaned in towards Will, voice quiet with concern.

“Not feeling myself lately, is all.”

“What’s wrong?”

That was the problem. He didn’t know.

+++

The Beta waited outside Dr. Lecter’s office, leaning against the hood of his car still warm from the drive. Winter was not going to be kind this year.

Hannibal was freakishly precise, leaving his office exactly when he said he would, and Will had to stop himself from smiling too brightly when he saw the Alpha. His chest still tightened with warmth at the sight, no helping there, a consequence Will was ready to accept as a result of his own dumb decisions. Dr. Lecter beckoned him over to his Bentley, and the Beta went along without protest. Another consequence of his dumb decisions.

“You’ll be in very good hands. I know Dr. Sutcliffe from my days of residence at Hopkins.”

“You know, I _can_ pay for this.” Will did his research, a private clinic like that wasn’t cheap but it wasn’t something his bank account would suffer from permanently. He was just grateful to get an appointment this quick.

“I know. But Dr. Sutcliffe is easily bribable with fine cuisine,” Hannibal grinned. “Why not take advantage of it.” Will was ready to protest further, so Hannibal drove their conversation to matters of importance. Since they had already settled for unconventional therapy in unconventional places, a car ride would more than suffice. “I hear Jack took you for another long drive today,” he said after pointing out the thermos of tea he had in his car. Will’s mix.

“The copy cat left his mark in Chesapeake Bay.”

“The Ripper, you mean?” He glanced at Will questioningly. The Beta’s response was a knowing smile and a quick nod.

“The Ripper painted this picture in big broad strokes, but Jack advised me not to spread that around. He remains unconvinced.” His smile dwindled with sour notes.

“How so?”

Will didn’t respond immediately, mulling his answer over on the tip of his tongue as he cradled a warm cup. “I’m having a hard time articulating my reasons. They’re more gut feelings than anything I can prove, but I’d wager my life on what I see.”

He spoke with a lot of conviction, but Hannibal wanted the details. “Tell me what you see.”

“Before or now?” The Beta asked turning his head to the doctor.

“Is the picture different?”

“Very,” Will got comfortable, sank into the warm leather of his seat. His fingers fiddled with a stray thread on the cuffs of his shirt. "There really isn't much to say about before. Two or so years ago I was working on something inhuman. I see people for what they are when I profile their crimes. I see humans with grotesque minds but they're still human, they're recognizable. The Ripper had no shape. A tiny little black dot on my mind that kept expanding and consuming my thoughts and my time. It was a formless creature. I couldn't recognize anything familiar in it. Clinical, detached, vengeful; an alien in love with humanity for the artistic tool it was.

“But now? Now it's different, much different. I see a shape, an outline. I see a man of fine taste and no tolerance for discourtesy. I see him trying to drive a point home. There’s a motive in his viciousness that extends beyond the displeasure he had with the victims. He wants to show us something and I’m... I’m afraid it might be just one person he’s trying to impress.”

A transfixing glaze covered Will’s eyes, but his thoughts were far away, his sight hooked on a moment in time far gone. Hannibal didn’t say anything, let the silence be and run its course. Will had more on his mind and he wasn’t going to keep it to himself. He started speaking again when his face fell, mind and sight back in reality. “I saw what he left today and I thought it was horrifying, but not before I thought it was fascinating.”

Hannibal’s face took on the shape of a man mildly shocked. “Are you implying—” he began, but the Alpha didn’t get to finish his words before Will jumped in.

“I’m implying it’s a stupid idea to even consider it, and yet I have,” the Beta laughed, almost humorously. “No, no, he’s trying to impress or impress upon another killer, not me.” The thought was an uncomfortable one, that there was someone around who could read The Ripper’s messages and be influenced.

“How can you be certain?” The Alpha peeled his eyes from the road to have a look at Will while he delivered objective criticism. “You killed a man, Will. And didn’t this all start with Hobbs?”

The Beta was dismissive; he shook his head and he laughed. He took the whole thing like a joke. Only when he noticed Hannibal’s concerned look and lack of humour did the laugh die in Will’s throat. He still rejected the notion. Why him of all people? A shark like that couldn’t smell his trail of blood unless he swam in the same waters. It was absurd.

But not impossible.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11, in which Dr. Sutcliffe is as shady as the friend whose D he's craving. Will offers an apology to his boss and drops by his psychiatrist to offer some proper thanks. Hannibal suffers a lapse of control and gets reminded why doing kinky shit in the office is not a good idea.

 

Dr. Sutcliffe played a good game with the smile he kept up and the air of a very accommodating man, but the eyes gave him away. It’s always about the eyes, they’re hard to control, terrible liars, and Will knew almost immediately that Dr. Sutcliffe was not overly fond of charity. Yet he went along with it, and the reason was standing next to him. Hannibal Lecter was clearly someone worth the inconvenience, and Dr. Sutcliffe bent himself backwards to subtly imply that several times over. There was history here Will could only speculate, but as Dr. Lecter said himself, they went way back.

While mildly vexed that someone saw him as a charity case, the Beta was much more worried about his health than his bruised ego or the neurologist’s agendas.

Processing was quick – after a questioning, he gave blood samples and immediately followed with a trip to the MRI machine. Stripping took longer than all that. Will felt good, optimistic, certain to a fault the machine would find something. He tried relaxing with that positivity in mind when the machine reeled him in, enclosing him in white rounded walls that his imagination worked quick to turn against him. The Beta was not claustrophobic, and yet the machine started feeling like a coffin coiling closer to him, too tight to breathe. Will squeezed his eyes shut to block out the visuals guilty of sparking his panic. The thumping noise was the worst; no ear plugs could quiet it, and it only grew louder and louder and louder until it matched the quickening speed of his heart, until he felt chills crawling down his skin. His stomach made flips as the overactive mind started recalling Dr. Lecter’s insinuation on their ride over. That was just not right, it couldn’t be!

Will trembled with the sudden onslaught of panic, breath turning shallow when his mind warped the thumping sound into gunshots. One, two, three shots – _god, you really forgot about that easily, didn’t you_  – four, five, six shots – _all it took was some distractions, like it never happened_ – seven, eight, nine shots – _killing him feel good, didn’t it_ – ten shots – _no wonder it drew someone’s interest_. And again, and again. The guns wouldn’t silence.

Will wanted out of the machine.

“Are you okay, Mr. Graham?” The question came from the intercom, loud and clear over the noise of the machine. “You’re heart rate is spiking.”

“I think I need to get out,” Will responded after a long delay with a cracking voice.

The intercom sounded again, but it was Dr. Lecter’s voice this time, telling him to close his eyes, focus on his voice and breathe in sync with his counting. A moment ago, Will was ready to jump out of his skin to get out of there. Instead, he did as he was told, focused on the calm and modulated voice speaking in low tones, and the progress wasn’t instant but the longer he listened the better he felt. Calmer. The Beta’s mind stopped screeching and his heart came down from the rush it was on, more he’d wager from listening to the voice than proper breathing instructions he was following.

“Jittery fellow,” Donald muttered under his breath when the intercom was off. They observed the early MRI data on his screen and found little amiss besides the slight trace of inflammation on the Beta’s right side of the brain. “Next time you want to invite an old friend for dinner, you can do so without dragging along a client, you know,” the Omega joked but there was a little bitterness in his tone he purposefully failed to mask.

“Oh, I believe you’ll find the results rather interesting. Perhaps when you observe them in pair with the blood analysis.” Hannibal leaned over his shoulder to have a look at the computer screen, focusing on the same trace of trouble Donald had. This early in the scan it was hard to tell if it was anything serious or not. It wouldn’t be, but the results would make more sense to the neurologist with what the blood had to say.

“Still performing parlour tricks with your nose?” Donald turned to look at him, grinning at the thought of old memories. “Tell me, what did you find on him?”

A hand came down on the Omega’s shoulder and Hannibal smiled, diverting eyes from the screen to his old friend. “Wouldn’t want to make your job easier, Donald. I’d appreciate it if you’d call me with the results instead of Mr. Graham. We can discuss those details over dinner.”

Dr. Sutcliffe was quick to agree, already wondering what sort of details could be waiting for him in the full analysis. He sent Will home with no word on the mild inflammation spreading over a part of his brain – it wasn’t very serious, but even if it was, Dr. Sutcliffe wouldn’t be very troubled to hide it for a friend – and promising to call as soon as he had all the results in hand.

They didn’t discuss Will’s panic attack on their drive back, the Beta adamant in his desire to ignore it, and he refused Hannibal’s casual offer of a drink in his office. Will drove home immediately and spent the evening with his dogs, grooming each one until every hair on their bodies glistened, and it helped to a point, it helped to set his mind off of things. The whiskey helped too, but lying down to rest after a fairly exhausting day didn’t. The quiet was the worst. It made gears in his head turn a mile a minute and he found himself thinking about it again.

Improbable, incredible, but never impossible. And who could Will possibly explain this madness to, this madness that maybe just maybe a very dangerous serial killer out there had his eyes on him, when not even Jack would listen to his flimsy connections.

+++

There was no hesitation in bringing the apology to the table as soon as both men had time to spare.

“I get it,” Jack Crawford huffed, somewhat in frustration and somewhat with relief. “Your job is stressful and it’s your bad luck you’re good at it. But don’t pull that shit again, or I will take you off the case.” Never in a bullshit mood, not during office hours at least. Jack made his point, but the thought of taking some leave from work started to sound appealing to Will.

“I might need a break for my health.” Jack took it wrong, the Beta could tell immediately. His boss really couldn’t swallow The Ripper connection, couldn’t fathom Will playing with the toys that almost broke him once. “No, god, not mental health. You had a talk with my psychiatrist, you know I’m fine.” Another tired huff from Jack, and then, “I’m feeling a little exhausted,” the Beta gave him half-truths. “I might be catching something.”

His boss didn’t look awfully convinced, but he allowed him to take back home copies of various files to save him from late office hours in uncomfortable chairs and diluted coffee.

Will didn’t stay home for long after dropping off the files though, merely had a shower and a change of clothes before leaving again. He struggled with the need for both, but going through three different shirts in front of the mirror was the last straw. He forced a lack of care on himself with a few minutes of mirror pep talk and the feeling was liberating. It really didn’t matter, none of it mattered and no one cared. And neither should the Beta. This was something to be enjoyed, used until it ran its course and then forgotten about. Sure, the _forgetting_ part would not be easy for him, would be a painful process like digging himself out of a grave he jumped in willingly. But he was already half-buried, so why stop there? It would feel good to simply _enjoy_. And maybe... who knew. Life was short, and just like the thought of The Ripper killing to attract Will’s attention, a positive outcome between himself and his psychiatrist was improbable, but not impossible.

What was impossible ran across the porch of his house, right under the window as Will was passing it. It made him jump, the size of it, and yet he only caught a dark blur in the corner of his sight. A really large dog, maybe? His own canines barely reacted and obeyed well when he told them to sit and stay put as the Beta went for the shotgun mounted on the wall, just in case it might not have been a dog. It was around 5 PM but the winter darkness outside was already thick, only his house lit up from the inside, as well as the porch. It was empty when he stepped out to have a look around, but the chilling air that bit his warmed skin kept him from exploring too far. Distantly, among the trees something moved, large and black and Will would have barely noticed it in the darkness if it weren’t for the glowing yellow eyes. _A really big dog_ , he thought again, and there to contradict him sounded off a howl from a distance, but not a very great distance. The Beta retreated back into the house, shaken somewhat by the depth of that sound. It was no dog. His own pack was more curious and affected by Will’s edginess than the sound.  

“I think I’ve got a wolf roaming around my property,” Will told his doctor with a chuckle. It was a little unnerving; coyotes were a lot easier to deal with.

Will didn’t have an appointment, but Dr. Lecter let him in with only a brief reprimand communicated with his eyes. The Alpha seemed pleased, all things considered, and thankfully free of clients for the moment.

“I’ve given an uncomfortable amount of thought to your insinuation, none of it willing.” Will took off his tweed jacket and sat – not in a chair or the couch but on the edge of Hannibal’s work desk, like he was testing limits.

The doctor said nothing of his crass choice, though he was bothered, mostly with how little he found it bothersome. Will had once again taken measure to come to him impulsively, but not impulsively enough to hide his ironed clothes. It pleased Hannibal, and it pleased to have him behave so nonchalantly in the Alpha’s world – a certain indicator of the bond slowly flourishing between them.

“And what did you conclude?” Hannibal asked as he cleared some private notes from his desk.

“Very little to conclude when there’s no evidence, only speculation. And I don’t like what I’ve speculated,” Will turned to look at him with worry in his eyes.

“I can imagine. Being on the receiving end of a psychopath’s poetry can’t be very flattering, if that’s what’s happening,” his humour was dry but it got rewarded with a chuckle from the Beta.

“It’s certainly the most creative courtship I’ve ever seen,” Will returned the jest with a smile that waned too quickly. It was hardly a laughing matter, mostly frightening in its possibility. “I hope I’m overthinking it. Or maybe I’m stressing too much to think about it properly.”

Hannibal joined Will at the front of the desk and took a seat on it, inches away from the Beta who did not shift away. “Has Dr. Sutcliffe called you?” He asked as he unbuttoned his suit jacket to sit more comfortably. There was a flinch of distaste he noticed in Will’s look, set straight and across the office where the windows spread.

“Not yet,” a shrug, “Not sure if I should be expecting something that quick really.”

“Donald had told me there were a few schedules that took precedence over yours, yes.”

There was a click of tongue, and Hannibal was certain Will took note of the casual use of first names. His distaste was now palpable. “I’m sure he’s complained about more than that,” the Beta said in a tone somewhat mocking. “I still think I should pay for that appointment. I don’t like being in debt to people who—”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal cut him off with a tap against Will’s thigh, gentle and lingering a moment too long to be entirely innocent. “Consider it a gift.”

There was a moment where Will couldn’t find words when their eyes locked. It felt like a trap, but he already stepped into it willingly. Flung himself, more likely. “It’s not even my birthday, Dr. Lecter,” he salvaged the silence with a smirk and a cant of his head. “I really should repay that at least,” Will leaned back a little and looked away, feeling as relaxed as he could be with an open offer like that coming out of him. He wondered if Hannibal was sitting close enough, if he could smell on him just how much Will wished to please. It would have felt embarrassing if the Beta wasn’t so candid about it. “If you want, of course,” Will finished with that and waited.

“I recall you saying we shouldn’t—”

And Will heard the wicked smile in Dr. Lecter’s voice, that’s why he cut him off. The Beta remembered well what he told the Alpha on his way out of the man’s house, after a tremulous night of drinking and fucking. As if the drinks were responsible. “That’s not the kind of answer I’m looking for,” Will said in warning. “Try again.”

He could smell the Alpha’s pheromones right under his nose when a better answer came in the form of another question. “What did you have in mind?”

Will was fairly simple about it, on his knees between the Alpha’s legs, a little bit of _quid pro quo_ for the short time they had at their disposal. He tried not to think about it, the time and the scent that wouldn’t leave the room all that easily. That was all Hannibal’s to worry about; he did agree after all.

“No knotting,” the Beta warned this time, though it could have gone unsaid. Hannibal chuckled at the mildly imperative tone, as if they had the time to explore dangerous kinks. A shame, because Will proved himself quickly in this position.

A slow, teasing start after the zipper got pulled down with teeth – the cotton fabric of Hannibal’s underwear was not spared as Will mouthed the shape of his cock, teasing with his lips and tongue until the shape hardened and strained against the cotton. Only then did the Beta consider pulling it out of the fabric that hampered enjoyment as Hannibal watched every move he made, unwilling to blink or take his eyes off him. Will was not as bold with his eyes, not yet at least. He didn’t look up when he teased with his wet tongue over the tip and across its length several times. Not even when Will’s empty hand sought to toy with his balls and an ungodly low grunt left Hannibal at the sensation of cold fingers. Only when his lips were wet enough, stretched tight over his cock and half way to the base, only then did Will direct his sight upwards and through his lashes to the image of Hannibal gritting his teeth with eyes at half mast.

Clearly pleased with his work, the Beta continued to swallow him down, tongue teasing against the underside as he made room in his mouth for the full length of the Alpha’s cock, tipping his head and sinking lower to give a straight line down. Hannibal was grateful Will wasn’t quite the tease with speed as he himself was on their first such meeting. That didn’t mean he passed the chance to tangle his fingers among the combed curls and cradle the Beta’s skull. Warm and wet and, god, those low noises murmuring in the back of his throat drove Hannibal wild a little too literally. He didn’t want Will to stop, wanted to come down his throat and at the same time wanted so much more, things there wasn’t time for, and the Alpha went for them against all instincts. Or perhaps laid bare at the mercy of his instincts, primal and hungry for the man kneeling on the floor.

Hannibal pulled at his hair, he pulled until Will growled in pain and let his cock slip out of his mouth with an obscene sound. “What’re you—” he tried saying between deep breaths, but the Alpha tugged once more and pulled at his shirt collar to get him to stand up. The Beta had a look in his eyes like he was about to throw a punch and that pushed all the right buttons for Hannibal. He pulled Will in and covered his mouth with his own, the younger man gasping in shock like it was the last thing he expected to receive. And maybe it was; Will may have caught on to Hannibal conscious effort not to offer something quite so tender during their first tryst. _Keep him wanting_ , he had thought and yet it was the Alpha that failed on his own rule.

The awkward tensions slipped quickly from the Beta’s frame and he dissolved with unfamiliar pliancy in the other man’s arms. Tongues slid against each other hungry to explore and teeth bit, craving the taste of lips they were previously denied. Will’s hands clung to the Alpha’s back, crumpling the fabric of his suit where they held on, eyes fluttering shut. Hannibal’s didn’t, they stayed wide open, sight set on their surroundings in consideration – the desk right behind them or the chaise at the far end? Hannibal was about to push, guide the Beta forward until his feet would hit against the furniture and tumble backwards so the Alpha could have him proper, so he could properly tend to their yearning needs, this fire that went out of control between them in Hannibal’s office during work hours.

Someone knocked on the door, a polite one-two-three, and both of them froze.

Will had the displeasure of noticing, his eyes wide open and kiss broken, the tonal shift in the Alphas reaction, so stark it almost frightened him to stand so close. It was clear as day on Hannibal’s face, the irritation. It was in the way his jaw set and his neck moved almost rigidly towards the source. Mostly it was in those dark eyes, blazing with indignation as they sifted dangerously from Will’s lips to the door. The Alpha checked his watch, nostrils flaring with an inward sigh, but when he let the air out, the flames burned out with it and he was back to his usual less threatening nature.

“New client. They came fifteen minutes too early.”

They drifted apart and settled their clothes back in order, some more than others, neither at all satisfied or saying much. Hannibal didn’t open the door to inform the client of their mistake. They would learn waiting in the silence of the lobby. Instead, he showed Will out through a back exit.

The Beta drove out of Baltimore virtually on autopilot, his thoughts milling over the sudden turn their actions took. His actions actually, Hannibal’s. Will didn’t expect it at all, the kiss rough yet yearning, and in it he saw the briefest glimpse of himself being fooled by his own hunger. He never dared to truly stop and consider the possibility and maybe he should have before, but certainly not now when he was losing his mind over lost time and the shadow of a crippling sickness in him. Couldn’t charm anyone with all these existential fears rolling around in his head. Couldn’t even tell if the Alpha was truly interested in anything more, if that kiss was supposed to be anything more than gratification. With all of his empathy, he saw so little of that man it started to bother him.

Half way home, Will’s quickest route to Wolf Trap was blocked by several police cars. He stopped his car too close, eyes snared by the scene one of the headlights illuminated – a man kneeling, his head covered in flowers, or so it seemed from Will’s position. He leaned forward, squinting for a better look as a police officer started making her way towards him. Just as he was being told to leave, his phone rang, Jack Crawford detailing the location of a new crime scene and asking if he could make it.

Will was already there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, that awkward moment when a different killer starts dropping you bodies but also flowers. Step it up Lecter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 - Someone likes to put flowers in some very extravagant looking vases and Will's mind can't help but wonder if those flowers are for him as well. Hannibal continues to be surprised by his worrying and acts on it.

 

Sleep was in short supply that night.

Constantly rolling and turning among sheets and the polyester fabric of his sleeping bag was not how Will envisioned that evening. Even his usual brand of nightmare only came after he was already asleep. At some point he loosened the zipper, half aware and feeling feverishly hot. Warm sweat coated his skin, pooled on his sheets and pillow as fevered visions kept his mind buzzing and unable to distinguish dreams from waking life. It was the case he caught on the way home that kept him tossing around the mattress.

A man, an Alpha, placed in the middle of a low traffic road late at night. His knees bent, arms spread and turned palm side up like an offering. And that’s what he was, nothing more than a vase to hold flowers. A clean and precise cut separated the head from his neck, eyes closed and placed in his lap. The gushing fracture of his skull on the back indicating how he died. The choice of victim was arbitrary, no connections here, and his death quick so the actual work could be done. A lively bouquet stood in place of his head, flower stems nicely tucked into the hollows of his esophagus and trachea. All fresh and terribly beautiful under the hard artificial lights set around the crime scene – gladioli, Asiatic lilies, carnations of various colour, daisies and tulips, just to name a few. A single red rose was tucked into the centre of the bouquet, as if a point hadn’t been made enough. Little blood was on the man, or seeping through his hollowed neck. He was drained to preserve cleanliness, to present him as something nice enough to decorate your home with. A very complicated vase.

 _This could be it._ A dreadful courtship, a master reaching out to a student and the student finally answered. _This could be who The R—copy cat is trying to reach,_ he told Jack while looking at the gift, a bouquet of flowers set right on someone’s doorstep. _A courting between killers. This one’s new to open displays, but savvy with death._

It fit perfectly, but maybe a little too much for Will’s sceptical mind, sick as it was but not sick enough to come up with alternatives, willing or otherwise. Something wasn’t quite right and it manifested like a nagging scratching feeling in the back of his head that the Beta ignored for the simple answers in front of him. It felt good, comforting, to take himself out of the equation, to forget and bury the thought the he could have had anything to do with the murders. Will’s dreams weren’t quite as forgiving as his conscious mind was. In truth, the flowers set on display in the middle of the road felt less like an invitation or an acceptance and more like a third party jumping in to have a piece of the fun. More peacocking, more attention seeking, but from a novice trying to impress someone else.

Desire was blatant in the arrangement of the bouquet, as was a very clear display of power. No defence wounds on the Alpha, not a single scratch. He died quick and unaware of the predator in his company. _An Omega,_ Will told that to Jack too and it was the one thing he was most certain of. It took skill to imbued and Alpha with such a sense of ease and security that they wouldn’t entirely drop their guard, that they wouldn’t even think of impending danger let alone an attack, that they would never smell it or sense it. That was how this predator hunted, exploiting their natural talents to prey on the one that stood at the top of the food chain and display its weakness to the world, mocking them, turning them into malleable pottery left on someone’s doorstep. If The Ripper was an Alpha, and Will was almost as certain of that, this could only be read as a threat. So who then was this killer talking to?

When Will’s mind projected the vision of a bouquet at his own doorstep, he woke with a start, delirious and shaking from a feverish heat that clung to his skin and scalded his breath. He thought he heard knocking as he woke, or running perhaps, paws or feet trampling around his porch. Barely aware of himself or his actions, still influenced by nightmares and the unreal, the Beta crawled out of his bed and almost stepped on a dog or two as they slept around his bed. He got to the door and opened without a thought, letting cool air chill his wet skin.

Four in the morning, pitch black and not a soul in sight. The freezing cold brought clarity to Will’s head and a distant sound of animals howling shook him with fear as he remembered the wolf he saw. The Beta was quick to close the door and look over at his dogs. They all slept peacefully, but Winston woke up from Will’s rattling and joined him by the door, tilting his head curiously.

It was a very early morning start for Will, a cringe in him denying sleep in favour of not waking up in strange places. He took note of the medication Hannibal gave him for his repulsion around breakfast. There weren’t many left and the Beta noted to ask Dr. Lecter where he could get more. If nothing else in his life worked favourably, that at least did.

+++

Morning traffic was terribly dense and Alana stomped with her hand on the car horn like never before. She was in her cycle and it was not at all uncommon for the condition to spike her aggression, but perhaps the morning meeting with Jack Crawford was what left her irritable. The Alpha was right though, and if Will wanted to quit he had the possibility at his disposal any time, but everything she kept hearing and seeing rubbed her the wrong way.

Will called her that morning with a request to fill in just one of his noon classes. He never came with such a specific request before. If he was sick, he didn’t sound like it, especially considering he didn’t ask her to cover his evening classes. But the Beta did sound robbed of sleep.

A knock on the door and Will responded with some delay, wrapped in a bathrobe, eyes a little sunken with a touch of mauve but otherwise fresh and opened wide. He looked like he’d been up for a while. The Beta smiled through the screen door when he saw her but the _good morning_ got lost in a sneeze as soon as he opened them. Alana wore her best pair of blue pump on purpose to tempt the devil. She stood silent with arms crossed on his porch and watched him with mischief in her eyes as he reel back from the sneeze. Will noticed the shoes and he most certainly noticed the look on her face.

“Are those you favourites?” He asked.

“One of.”

“Dangerous game, Alana. I had a hefty breakfast today.” She cocked her head suspiciously as Will made some mock gestures of queasiness, but after a moment he just sniffed a couple of times before smiling at her. The results surprised him more than the Omega. “I think your shoes safe. But if you want to come in you’ll have to live with my sniffles,” his smile turned apologetic, like somehow that was his fault.

Alana wanted to smack him over the head for it. Instead she told him it wouldn’t be a problem and entered the house.

“Did Jack send you here?” Will asked as he served them coffee.

“Not really, but we did have a talk. I may have snapped at him.” Will frowned and she could hear it before it even left his mouth, a _stay out of it_ wrapped in pleasantries and nice words. “Allow me to worry, Will,” she interrupted, and if it were any other day she would have said that with care and softness, but today it left her mouth wrapped in an imposing tone. “I care enough about you to worry when I catch wind of you mentioning The Ripper. I remember what you were like back then, I remember what that name drove you to. And I continue to insist this job isn’t good for you,” her voice raised a notch as she leaned over the table, delivering her words with a sharp and startling look. She was a small woman but in that moment her presence loomed over the Beta.

Will leaned back and sucked in a breath, unfamiliar with this aggression oozing out of Alana. He’d never seen her like this, but then again he’d never witnessed any adult Omega in their heat before, suppressed or otherwise. He firmly stayed away from such people as best as he could. High school was not kind to his medical condition, but Will justified his every split lips and broken glasses – no one enjoyed seeing their presence could make someone physically vomit. That, and children were cruel, though adults could be worse.

Alana sat back and released a sigh, rolled her shoulders and relaxed as best she could. There was a snap in her neck as she craned it. “Sorry,” the apology was short but heartfelt. “Heats tend to make me an asshole.”

“I was going to say you sounded awfully like an Alpha,” Will wiped his nose and forced a grin when the surprise left him.

“Like I said, an asshole,” the Omega grinned with a lot more gusto.

“I hope you didn’t come to Jack with that attitude.”

“He respects me too much to yell at me, but I’d love to see him try. That being said, most of my ire is with you, or with Hannibal. I can’t decide,” she flipped to a frown. “I came to you first, because this is your life we’re talking about. What’s going on Will?”

Will took the simple approach – lying. Safe lies about a profiling mistake and a lack of sleep from overworking he promised to fix. He sold her what he should start selling Jack if he couldn’t find any better clues. It certainly would paint him less disturbed in their eyes, would make them both, but mostly Alana, relax and stop probing his capacity to do his own job. Hannibal was right, he was guilt tripping himself into assisting the FBI, he was using the guilt of his moral and physical failures in the Hobbs house against himself. But he was also a man good at his job, so it came to him like a cold shower of disappointment that he’d been doing so piss pore at it. The copy cat was big news, even bigger to Will who remained convinced it was The Ripper at work, and yet the Beta was not at his best to help untangle this convoluted mess of strange courting and hidden messages. He hoped he would be soon, still waiting for a call from Dr. Sutcliffe.

Alana stood partially convinced with his lies. Will did see her relax somewhat, but he also saw her eye his liquor cabinet and the general state of his home. It wasn’t an appalling sight but the Beta didn’t find much time in his day to devote to cleaning. Her insistence the job reflected poorly on him did not die out, and as frustrating as Will found it, he didn’t have it in him to argue with her, wary of her state as much as her tongue. The Beta couldn’t help drawing parallels with Dr. Lecter – he believed in his skill and he encouraged it, but he was also privy to the true nature of his problems.

Shortly before Alana decided to leave for work, Will grimaced and went towards the window, muttering, “Can you hear that?” Alana joined him to stare out towards the woods at nothing in particular, and shot him a puzzling look. “The animals howling,” he said and his eyes caught sight of his dogs loitering about the yard, rolling around the grass and playing utterly unpreoccupied.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Alana bore out the window searching for signs of life, but it clicked for Will before she even said a damn thing. “What kind of animals?”

Will’s answer took a while to come out from his mouth. “Must have imagined it.”

+++

Hannibal brought out an old treat for Donald Sutcliffe when the man came to dinner; Jamon Iberico prosciutto and authentic Parmigiano-Reggiano as their appetizer, with a glass of Tuscany’s best Chianti. Donald was a man of high taste, and even though Hannibal was certain the man didn’t change much, there was no reason not to bribe and indulge in a fine Italian antipasto.

Donald called him that morning, revealing little and only asking when this dinner he was promised was. Hannibal had little trouble accommodating him in his schedule. He had been waiting for the call after all. Still, there was some disappointment. Will called a little too late wondering if there was a free spot to accommodate him. A new case was eating at his nerves and Hannibal knew exactly which one. He had seen it in the morning paper and then with even more detail on TattleCrime.com, which confirmed his suspicion. There was no need for guessing who left that gift. Hesitation was there for both before Hannibal had to decline Will – an emptiness stretching in words and thoughts where Will left gaps of interest, little hopes he’d be invited to the house instead. The Alpha’s lack of choice on the matter left them both silently displeased.

“Still love your rare treats, don’t you Hannibal?” Donald said as he watched him cut prosciutto straight off the bone. “The more difficult and expensive to obtain the better.”

Hannibal grinned, amused by his old friend’s observations as he offered the story behind this particular kind of meat. A rare delicacy, this Iberian ham, that came to him all the way from Spain.

“Now that you’ve explained how Iberico chooses his pigs, perhaps you’d like to share how you chose yours?”

There was little shame on the Omega’s tongue. Donald was and stayed an elitist that could throw on a good face for his patience because a job was a job, but he didn’t stick with the pleasantries outside the office. Hannibal knew that, expected that, but he didn’t expect the words to offend him quite as personally they did.

“Are you referring to Will Graham?” He asked humourless.

“Yes, the Beta. You’re fond of the rarefied and his case of repulsion certainly would make him interesting to you.” Donald chewed through the piece of cured ham and cheese he picked off his fork before aiming a look at Hannibal with a few clarifications. “I checked his medical history. I was quite curious after what our tests found.”

“What did they find?”

“Something illegal. But you already know that, don’t you?” Donald touched his nose and Hannibal nodded in response. “Here’s what I don’t get,” the Omega dropped his silverware and sat back. “He’s in the critical age group. So how does one go through a treatment as dangerous as that one and not study the side effects?”

Donald was an elitist and an opportunist, and Hannibal knew that as well. He knew exactly what kind of reaction his admission would get. “Perhaps one does not know he is undergoing such a treatment.”

There was a brief pause of shock from the other man before he responded with, “You sneaky devil,” and a wicked grin spread across his features. Donald hadn’t changed at all. “I see now why you brought him to me. But what do I get from this?”

“Opportunity,” Hannibal matched the Omega’s greedy smile. “It’s rare to be able to study the psychological effects of such treatments. Or neurological,” this caught Donald’s interest and the man steepled his hands in thought, possibly wondering how much more inflamed the mind could get.

But Hannibal didn’t stop there. To ensure silence, he was ready to throw something extra on the fire. “Perhaps you would enjoy comparing notes over dinner,” the flirtation in the Alpha’s eyes was blatant. “Just like old times,” he smiled knowingly. An old spark was there and waiting, and his offers were sold as soon as they came.

Dr. Sutcliffe longevity was another matter, but the comments he had for Will won him no favours.

The Omega prepared false documentation that he showed Will next day. Hannibal and he agreed to show the Beta positive results with an open invitation to do more tests due to the marginal possibility of error. Will was excited by the call, prematurely relieved, which made for a drastic drop of morale when the news from the Dr. Sutcliffe was unfavourable. It’s hard to call a positive brain scan unfavourable, but the implication was clear – if it wasn’t physical, the ailment was psychological. A worse deal all around in his book.

Hannibal called him and heard a tired misery in his voice as the Beta relayed over the news. An uncharacteristic pang of guilt echoed in the Alpha, utterly misplaced and unwelcomed. “Would you like to come for a session,” he asked, a protective urge rising in him. What he wanted was to have Will at his table for dinner, in his house for a drink, anything that put the other in his vicinity really, but that could be easily arranged afterwards.

“I don’t think I’ll be very lively company today,” Will’s word felt dull but he agreed with little fuss.

There was a trace of a smile etched in the thanks Hannibal received over the phone. It didn’t calm him though, it didn’t placate the Alpha. His working hours were tainted with thoughts of the Beta and what he might be doing. Hannibal was aware of bonds by their textbook definitions, now too old to remember what it felt like in his youth. Perhaps that was Will’s issue as well, too jaded and dismissed by society to remember or acknowledge it, ignorant of the signs for his own emotional safety. There was sense in such an approach; Hannibal did not remember the bond lost to time and age, but he remembered vividly the cold embrace of rejection and loneliness, and he was certainly very aware of the neutral image he held up in Will’s presence.

Hannibal never felt the need to shield his frayed heart from others, or hide it. Few in the world could understand the Alpha, could grab his attention so singularly. Some guards were not worth wasting energy on, though he wished he had now. Will nested in his heart as much as he’s certain he nested in Will’s, and that brought him nothing but worry. There was no misstep in Hannibal’s grand scheme, just that chance, very real and awfully unpleasant, that he might bury his last unique chance of companionship.

Will wasn’t in the lobby when the clock signalled the start of their session and Will didn’t show up during the next five minutes. Will didn’t answer his phone either. Only seven minutes had passed when the Alpha couldn’t sit calmly in his office anymore. He kept to the speed limits and he kept to the traffic signs, though at times instincts begged him to cross the line. Why? The danger existed, in theory, but was now just a figment in his head, questionable and unfound. Reasons Will could be late were plentiful and logical. He might drive by him just now.

Hannibal did not cross the speed limit and he did not cross the red light, but logic did not calm him either.

The Beta’s lecture hall was empty, lights on, and the table scattered with files and pictures of the gifts Hannibal left for him – the man tearing his skin off was something he was particularly proud of and the photographer managed to catch it in a light and angle that would look great on the wall – but also of a man with a bouquet nested in his neck. He studied the pictures carefully, finding it an amateur’s job that was surprisingly delightful in execution. When the details were absorbed, he dropped the images back where he had found them in the exact position and angle, and proceeded to follow his nose. Will’s scent was fresh in the room, he could not have gone far, and Hannibal set out to find him and the reason for his tardiness.

There was no need to hear out his excuses; what the Alpha found told him everything before flinging him in a rush. Will didn’t respond to the sound of his name, he sagged, and the stairway was awfully close. The Beta could walk down it or fall down it, and Hannibal dropped his dignified gait for a sprint. He caught up to Will before he even got close to the stairs, snapping his trance with firm hands that gripped his arms and a voice less than perfectly smooth.

Dire panic muddied Will’s sight, his mind interlocking vision from his dreams with the real world, and he tore from Hannibal’s hands and backed away until he hit the wall. The shape calling out his name was dark and dangerous and the Beta had spent an eternity running from it in his dream. The lights were too bright, the words too loud, and he slipped to the floor as his eyes blinked rapidly trying to gauge out what was real and what not. A cool hand came over his eyes to block out the light and it felt good. He recognized it through smell and he finally recognized the voice that spoke to him as well.

“You might have a cold, Will. You’re very warm.”

Will’s tongue was like lead. He observed his surrounding, absorbed his position and the man crouching by him, knew too quickly what happened and how he got there, but the Beta couldn’t say a word until they were back in his lecture hall. Gentle hands guided him even when he was sure on his feet and Will crashed unceremoniously in his chair with an absent look, only speaking up when he noticed Hannibal collecting all the files on his table and placing them in Will’s bag along with the rest of his belongings.

“Thank you for...” Will knew what he wanted to say, but was uncertain if he should.

“Worrying,” Hannibal said the word for him and smiled, actually smiled with such genuine warmth Will felt the fever in him raise.

There was no objection when the man offered to give him a ride home. No objection when he entered Will’s house and offered to fix him something to eat. It all felt so natural and long due; Will sitting in the kitchen wrapped in an afghan, tea and a bottle of Aspirin in front of him, rich chicken stew cooking on the stove, and Hannibal sitting across him peeling an orange with deft hands. The Beta hoped the mess of his home didn’t bother him too much, but Hannibal barely even noticed. Or pretended not to.

“Stress can weaken the immune system,” he said as he finished peeling and slicing the orange. “I would suggest cancelling your classes tomorrow,” the plate of fruit got slid under Will’s nose. All of the Beta’s thanks were communicated with his eyes and tiny smiles and Hannibal found he greatly appreciated such simple gestures.

Will checked the thermometer. It wasn’t very alarming, 99.5°, hardly a cold. “I’m more concerned about sleepwalking on Academy grounds. Or the fact that I might be hearing things. Hallucinating.” Hannibal cocked his head in question so Will elaborated, “I don’t think there’s an actual wolf running around my property,” his chuckle was humourless. “I’m feeling so paranoid I can’t even do my job properly.”

“The new case?”

Will sighed into his cup. “I don’t know what it is. Maybe I can’t unlatch from The Ripper case, because I keep seeing everything as a thinly veiled threat aimed at me,” he laughed again, nervous this time, and drank more tea.

Hannibal couldn’t correct him this time without latching suspicion on himself. Will’s mind worked well, better even under all this pressure, and he had no idea how right he was but he would soon enough. The Alpha let him talk about the new case, the admiring novice fighting for attention, before forced sleep caught Will. There was one last syringe in Hannibal’s car waiting to be released into Will’s blood stream. He did it with little qualm; to stop now would be stupid. The dogs tried though, feeling restless when the sharp object approached their master. They growled and the few larger ones made attempts to step forward and put their threats of sharp teeth to use. But Hannibal was an Alpha, and it took him one glare and an imposing stride to drive them back and out of the kitchen with whines. He closed the door and did what he set out to do.

What he didn’t do was wake him, not yet. Instead Hannibal set a chair right next to him, pulled Will away from the wall he was leaning against and into his arms. Maybe it was his imagination, restless thoughts on Hannibal’s part that told him the Beta looked tense even in his sleep, uncomfortable and anxious. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he didn’t imagine Will’s body unwind in his arms, softly breathing and sinking against the Alpha as if aware of what was happening. Hannibal tucked his head under his chin as his hands made soft stroking gestures through Will’s hair and along his arm. He was partial to tenderness, but this particular urge that pulled his hands had no name in Hannibal’s dictionary yet. He cradled the younger man like so until the lid started rattling, the stew calling for a stir.

Will woke up by the time a steaming plate got set on his table and Hannibal prepared to leave.

“Be sure to lock your doors when I leave,” Hannibal said as he pulled on his coat and Will blinked at him with a drowsy look.

“I thought I was the paranoid one,” the Beta chuckled.

“Better safe than sorry,” he kept it simple, cautious yet unalarmed. “You’re a gifted profiler, Will. The thoughts that cross your mind should be taken into account, no matter the state they came in.” And Hannibal felt it again, the mood shift in Will from relaxed to distressed. His face didn’t show it but his hands grew fidgety as they pulled the afghan tighter over his taut shoulders. Will nodded and smiled and thanked him for the meal still cooling in the kitchen.

“If you need anything,” Hannibal went with the clear urge in him, amused by the way the Beta only leaned backwards as he stepped closer and into his private space, “don’t hesitate to give me a call.” He placed a hand on Will’s shoulder and a kiss on his cheek, maddeningly chaste and simple but it left the Beta confused. “Take care,” Hannibal said to the baffled look aimed at him and left.

It took Will a solid minute to move from his spot and lock the door, still wondering if he had just imagined that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh yes, systematically destroying the integrity of the original characters through increased emotional reciprocity. Thank you A/B/O genre, I could not have done it without you <3   
> \--  
> 99.5°F or 37.5°C


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13, in which Hannibal throws a party to get his mind off trouble, Will gets more flowers but also some stalkers that may or may not exist outside of his head, and two middle-aged teenagers talk about feels and shit over the phone.

 

Making tomato roses wasn’t a particularly daunting task for Hannibal, nor was it something that required the full immersion of his senses, but he managed to miss entire sentences aimed at him and even the call of his name. He caught it the second time and with it Alana’s mildly preoccupied tone; he wasn’t one to ignore people, not unwillingly at least. Not her.

She sat down the knife and the vegetables she was chopping. There wasn’t a rush with their work; the guests wouldn’t be coming for another hour and the food was all but done. Alana came earlier to give him a hand, not because the Alpha needed it but because she needed a word. The topic of Will Graham had been a third guest in their conversations lately and it was no different that day either. The Omega covered his classes in the Academy ever since Will took vacation time a few days ago. Nothing that would draw concern; in fact she applauded it, though news reached Alana he took leave due to a common cold. Either way, she applauded it, set aside her gnawing worries and decided to let his own psychiatrist worry about it. But the Omega didn’t last long with her own promise, not when she heard Jack called Will up and asked him to have a look at another crime scene. She hoped Hannibal could have some influence over the other Alpha to leave Will alone for a while, confessing she had no confidence in her own composure, no at this particular time.

Hannibal’s distraction was brought on by the same subject but a different problem. He hadn’t heard from Will since he left his house with a mild warning to lock his doors and cure his sickness, and yet yesterday Hannibal heard from the nurse that he visited Abigail and today he heard of the Beta being dragged out to look at more corpses. Hannibal knew exactly whose corpses, too. He had a session with Miss Bale that afternoon and she was a delightfully evasive thing, unwilling to talk about her new fixation in vague details until the last minutes of their session. She complimented Freddie Lounds’ website for being most accurate in their leaked details, surely words pried from Will himself. Hannibal said little as fascination poured from her, in equal measures for her prey and for the excitement of exposure. What could he say? Was this not what he wanted?

Yes, yes it was. It was exactly as he wanted. Everything was going accordingly, no hitch in sight but the warring feelings deep in his core. The Alpha was particularly violent in his last hunt, the ill-bred bus driver’s remains now shared between him and his sous chef to feed a crowd of socialites. The violence he used was unlike him, pent up frustration for all the simple possibilities, for the _could bes_ and the _maybes_ that used to be banal but now reached a point that Hannibal could almost call frightening. The Alpha hadn’t heard from Will and hadn’t called him, though the simple memory of his eyes wide in surprise and lips parted with a silent question kept Hannibal warm in the evenings when he settled for a rare and cosy night by the fireplace with a book. He should have made the kiss proper; not like he could catch the Beta’s sickness. But then the Alpha’s thoughts would veer towards the unknown and dangerous, and his book would snap shut and he would be embraced again with conflict in him he couldn’t placate, not now. Need would also grab him, to call, to visit, to be close, and to comfort the source of his yearnings.

For a man with such tight control over his nature, he had very little strength to wrangle his affections into something less upsetting.

“I’ve never seen you this distracted,” Alana said with a hint of humour when all of Hannibal’s attention was on her. He hummed and apologies but gave her no explanation. “It’s Will, isn’t it?” Her observation was astute though not quite as precise. Hannibal showed her no sign of surprise; the guess would not have been a challenge for her. “It bothers you as well,” she sighed, somehow feeling better, and picked up the knife again. “Have you heard from him?”

“No,” he confessed with visible disappointment. “Though what bothers me is his sickness.”

“A cold?” The Omega laughed, “Will’s capable of that much self care, I assure you.”

“I feel his sickness is not quite what it seems.”

The seeds of doubt were already sown in Jack and now it was Alana’s turn. After all, the worry about his Beta was one thing, and the worry about coming clean from this ordeal another. Will’s reputation was predestined to take some burns for it – a notion Hannibal didn’t find particularly hard to live with.

“Have you noticed his repulsion?” Alana nodded. “I got a lot better. Has he told you why?”

“Some new medication,” the Omega shrugged. It was enough for her at the time, though she had heard countless times in the past about his lack of success with any and all tricks for this disorder.

“Has he ever shown it to you?” Alana shook her head. “I haven’t seen the brand either. Honestly, I don’t think he’s taking what he says he’s taking.”

“What else could it be?”

“I feel his struggle with identity is...” His words conveniently drifted, as if to stop him from saying too much by accident. “I’d rather not speculate, not without proof.”

She took the implications with some alarm, but respected Hannibal’s plea of privacy. They steered away from the subject of Will after that, devoting their attention to the incoming gathering. All throughout the dinner party, Hannibal held up his charming smile and intellectual banter, but his eyes kept darting to the end of the table where a couple of seats stayed vacant. He enjoyed the momentary visions of the Beta sitting there, eating his food and drinking his wine without much communication spared to the guest, only the occasional glace and smirk in the Alpha’s direction.

Hannibal enjoyed that thought a lot and hoped to see it come true.

+++

A thin layer of wet snow covered the grass. It was cold and Will felt it through five layers of clothes, so he hugged himself and rubbed his arms, his back turned from the crime scene. He absorbed plenty but the information was a mess in his head and there was no telling if Jack would be satisfied with what he’d hear.

“Are they working together?” The Alpha looked beyond Will’s shoulder and to the woman kneeling in the middle of a park in an evening dress of rosy colours. “Or are they building up to it?”

“No, no,” Will took his glasses off to clean them and his boss caught sight of his shaking hands. “The—the copy cat has an agenda, sure, but his kills serve a purpose beyond that,” Will closed his eyes for a moment, recalling The Ripper’s victims left in recent weeks, and those left years ago. “He’s a performer. Every brutal choice has elegance in it, grace. His mutilations hide the true nature of his crime.”

When his eyes opened, Jack was giving him that exasperated look of a man who knew exactly who Will was talking about. But he said nothing, allowed the words to sink in for once, and maybe, just maybe, with it allowed a sliver of doubt.

“This fledgling chooses their victims with only one criteria – that they’re an Alpha.” The Beta turned his head for a last look at the victim, head placed in her lap and neck filled with flowers. She was positioned much like the previous one, an offering that got displayed in a slightly less public space – one of Wolf Trap’s large parks. The location didn’t slip Will’s notice, and neither did the change of flowers. This time the bouquet was exclusively made of roses with shifting hues throughout the spectrum of red, crafted in a way to fool the eye with seamless transitions. It went well with the victim’s dress. A choice that didn’t feel coincidental, the flowers or the dress.

Will swallowed down his paranoid thoughts and gave him boss what he came to hear.

“This one’s just looking for a vase to put the flowers in, while also flaunting their capability. Might be an actual artist. Definitely has an eye for colour. I wouldn’t be searching for a florist, that’s too obvious, but chances are they have a garden. Also a recluse, someone who makes their earning from home. When you find their house, possibly a private piece of real-estate, I think you’ll find a lot more victims. This isn’t the first time they’ve killed, just the first time they went public.”

Jack nodded, seeming satisfied with the details but still he waited for more information, so Will tossed his mind for more details that felt sound while rubbing his hands together. “There’s a connection between the copy cat and this killer, definitely. This is blatant courtship, very on the nose, unlike the copy cat. He prefers subtlety, and this one... It might be an attempt to impress, it might be an answer to his messages, it might be... It might be a lot of things Jack, but I don’t know what to tell you anymore.”

The Beta expected repercussion from Jack, a disappointed face and irritation. Instead his boss just sighed and looked more disappointed by himself than anything. “I shouldn’t have dragged you out of bed. You look like shit.”

“You asked, I agreed.”

“I would have made you come even if you said no.” Will couldn’t argue that, chances were high in the Alphas favour. Wouldn’t be a first either.

Beverly drove him home, some twenty minutes by car from the crime scene, and only her banter kept his mind off that fact. She stopped at a pharmacy before dropping him off to pick up some vitamins. “You’ll pay me back with drinks when you get better,” she slapped away his wallet.

Maybe she caught a whiff of the anxiety rising in the pit of the Beta’s belly, and maybe it was just a friendly impulse, but Beverly walked him to his door. Will appreciated it, offered her to come in even though he knew she’d refuse.

“I’m not off duty,” the Alpha said as she peeked inside the house, face lighting up when she saw curious dogs approach. She was quick to crouch and scratch them behind their ears. “Did Jack tell you? We found a foreign hair on the first victim and a very partial print. No traces in the system though.”

A thought occurred to Will as he thought back of the fledgling killer one last time. “Try looking, uhh, for people who rent their houses, take tenants and such. But under the radar, this one wouldn’t want suspicion if one of the tenants turned out to be a candidate.”

Beverly laughed at _candidate_ , a morbid choice of a word. “Broad stroke,” she said, getting up to her feet, “but worth it. Gives us somewhere to focus at least.” The Alpha hesitated with her next words before Will gave her an odd look and rubbed his hands from the chill seeping into his home through the open door. “Everything ok with you? I mean, besides the bug you caught.”

“The usual,” he smiled, feigning leisure.

Beverly knew better, but she also knew better than to push. She reminded him she still had a working phone she regularly used, and as comforting as the thought sounded, to invite her over or call her up and throw some of his troubles in her direction, he’d rather not. Few could understand him at this point.

There was another person he had for that privilege, but even that Will refused himself. Pride was in the mix, a sense that he shouldn’t have to be the one to call first in this situation. But the Beta’s own insecurities were there as well, a part of him still insisting he’s being lied to, pulled by his nose by someone too good for him. Will liked Dr. Lecter, liked him too much, but he wasn’t entirely blind to the man or dazzled by his mysteries to not see him as someone capable of games.

Though, _like_ wasn’t a good enough word to ascribe to his feelings anymore, not with the thoughts Will laid down to sleep lately, not with how he noticed his behaviour and mood shift in the Alpha’s company. But calling it anything stronger than _like_ would be admitting to himself that he had irrevocably crossed the line where abandonment would not only hurt Will emotionally, but break him. He feared that the most. And when he didn’t fear that, he feared the unknown sickness in him. And when he managed to not even fear that, he feared truth in his paranoia and killers stalking him. Lately, all the Beta recalled from his days was how much he spent it in fear.

And then night would fall and somehow he’d swore off midnight calls to his psychiatrist because the man deserved his rest and Will wasn’t a lot of thing, but at the very least he was always self-sufficient. The dogs slept closer and closer to him, sensing the nightly distress in their master, and that was some comfort Will couldn’t deny. It kept him stable when the animals would start howling and in the moments of light sleep when he’d see shifting blackness on four paws circle outside his window. The Beta had another scheduled arrangement of tests with Dr. Sutcliffe for tomorrow, finding in himself a lack of will to care about the man’s attitude. He just wanted to sleep soundly for a change.

 _Maybe this night,_ he dared to hope because all things considered, he didn’t feel terribly ill. This cold was a strange one; it didn’t come with that tired ache in the bones or sensitive skin, but it did exhaust him easily and made him sweat profusely, unnaturally considering how low it was. It also never wavered, rising with a slow but steady pace no matter the Aspirin he took. And yet, he didn’t feel terribly ill, so Will had his tea and took a work of fiction off his shelves to read in the living room. He couldn’t help the two fingers of scotch; it just didn’t seem right without it.

Hours and hour passed and he did not remembered leaving the chair, finishing the book or even getting up. Will’s watch read almost midnight, and he recalled very clearly sitting down with his book around eight. Maybe he fell asleep, and that would certainly make sense because when the Beta came to, he found himself walking along the road half a mile away from his home. He was in his jacket though, and even stranger, in his hands he clutched his rifle. Will almost dropped it in confusion. What was he doing with it? Why did he take it? Where was he going? Thoughts of shooting something, _someone,_ and not even remembering it scared him almost as much as the dark around him, though shuffling sounds coming from behind made Will suddenly very happy he came equipped. He turned quickly and aimed with shaking hands, heart thumping in his ears from fear and excitement in equal measure, but he set down the gun almost immediately with a feeling of guilt as two dogs jumped back at the sight of it. Winston and Lola, his border collie, followed him all the way from the house and the Beta was never more happier to see them. They rushed to his side when the gun went down and he fell on his knees to greet them, enjoying a moment of repose to collect his head and start walking back. The moon was bright at least.

His feet definitely felt the long stroll, but Will walked with a hurried pace as dogs trailed in front of him. When he got off the road and cut a shortcut through the woods, his pace turned into a jog. Twigs and dry leaves were cracking beneath his shoes, his dogs’ paws, and logic should have convinced him that he was partial to hearing things and that any other noise he heard in the woods was him overreacting. But then again, he did leave his house with a gun. Maybe he had heard something, saw it, chased it, though Will couldn’t imagine himself finding such unorthodox courage in the state he’s in. But something did make him leave with a gun, and the Beta wasn’t hearing any wild animals howling in the night, nor was he seeing eyes glow in the distant dark. Footsteps, on the other hand, trailing behind him and rustling leaves and cracking dried twig under soles, that didn’t feel very fabricated by the mind. Or at least it felt too real to neglect, so Will jogged, ignoring how tired and dizzy he was and how wildly his heart kept beating against his chest, warning him to run faster and slow down at the same time.

The Beta was out of breath fast, but fear didn’t allow him to slow down. Fear also turned his sight against him, projecting a pair of golden eyes spying at him from the distant sides, pacing along with him on its four legs. Logic tried to work again, tried to tell Will he knew as much that it wasn’t real, but the eyes kept seeing the beast stride distantly along with him and panic did not subside. His best, or worst, decision was stopping for a moment to turn and face the noise that had him jogging, hoping to see something so extravagant he’d break the spell on his eyes and realize his folly. Instead he spied in the distance, moving slowly among the trees, a dark shape of a man. The run he broke into was more than the Beta could take, fear pulling his stomach inside out as his mind recalled all the foolish thoughts of dangerous killers with their eyes on him. Will did not relent to slow down even as his body protested, too apprehensive to use the gun in the dark, to afraid of even turning again. His dogs more than kept up, their clear shapes in front of him a motivation to keep running, a safe spot for his eyes.

He reached his house but even then he didn’t stop rushing. Will locked the doors and was about to move his armchair as a blockade, but that strain didn’t matter a god damn thing because of his giant windows. Fragile glass a simple rock could break through. The Beta pulled all the curtains, ignoring the glistening black fur of the giant wolf just sitting there in his yard, facing his bedroom window. There was no sign of human shapes to behold before Will pulled all the curtains, not stalking among the trees or coming towards his house, but in the dead silence of his well lit home, his frightened mind started playing trick on him – footsteps again, around his house and on his porch, paws or feet or both, too loud to be real, to real-sounding to be fake.

Will sat at the foot of his bed nursing the rifle, shaking with cold and exhaustion. His dogs bunched up around him, shielding him from things they couldn’t understand and the cold he so obviously shivered from. An admirable attempt, but nothing they could do could help Will’s nerves. He grabbed a phone and dialled a number he knew by heart.

“Hello?” The answer came quick but with a drawl, and Will’s eyes fell on the clock ticking on his wall. It was past 1 AM. “Will?”

“I-I forgot about the time, I’m sorry,” his voice sounded drowsy and shaken, worse than the man who just woke up.

“Don’t hang up,” the order came just as Will’s finger hovered on the button. “I told you to call if there was a problem,” a rustle of fabrics, sheets, was heard on the other end and Dr. Lecter immediately sounded less tired with his next words. “Seeing as you chose this time to make a call, I’m going to assume it must be serious.”

Just that, just the sound of his voice so close by and the will to listen at this ungodly hour brought the Beta such gentle relief he closed his eyes, his headache subsiding when the lights dimmed behind his eyelids. The respectful thought of hanging up disappeared as quick as it came and pride never once reared its head. Will told him what happened, how confused he was over its authenticity, and for once he talked openly about his fear of the illness inside him and the potentially real threat just outside his house. Hannibal never gave him any concrete answer to his plight, no solution and no assurances, but he listened and hummed and offered words when Will couldn’t find them. A comforting presence over the phone, warm and soothing, and Will found himself deliriously wishing Hannibal was right there with him.

“Don’t leave your house trying to prove there’s nothing out there,” Hannibal warned when Will ran out of things to say. “You sound too sick to be gallivanting on the cold. Have you considered calling the police?”

“They’d take one look at my sick ass and the woods I live in and tell me I imagined it. No, no point there. But I don’t plan on leaving the house.” Too tired, too frightened; he left those excuses out. Unnecessary, Hannibal already knew.

“Would you like me to come over?” A very direct question, no pause for thought between it and the end of Will’s last words. Worst of all, it came with a low tone from the other end, intimate and personal. The Beta had a lot more trouble finding an answer.

“Don’t play with me like that, Dr. Lecter,” the quickest words from Will were a knee jerk reaction, defensive honesty. There wasn’t a good way of answering that question, not when his heart stirred to palpitation again from mere words. “Whatever you think you’re doing, just stop. It’s cruel.”

The breezy laugh that came was nothing but amused with Will’s words. “I did not expect my intentions to come out quite so oblique. But I assure you, cruelty is not in my interest, not with you.”

Will sat up more comfortably, the gun laying forgotten in his lap. A few dogs nuzzled closer. He was tired and exhausted, and a moment ago most of his senses were focused on danger and the sounds coming from outside. But now all they focused on was the voice on the phone proving a point the Beta had been adamantly denying himself. And continued to.

“We live in different worlds.”

“Very similar, actually.”

“People would talk.”

“They often do, some less flattering than others.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Will’s tone grew a little bitter, “and your society of silver spoons wouldn’t let you live this down easily. They would talk and you would grow resentful—”

“You really should stop insinuating to know what is best for me. Do I strike you as someone who does not think things through?”

“How about what’s best for me then? I’m tired of this toxic atmosphere, tired of looking at it, tired of living in it, tired of the fallout...” Will sighed loudly, exasperated by the agitation that rallied him.

“And locking yourself in an ivory tower will somehow fix this,” Hannibal still sounded amused.

“It worked fine for me.”

“Perhaps attempting instead of succumbing to a fictive scenario first? You may find happiness is not quite as hard to achieve.”

The Beta’s manner fluctuated, swinging hot and cold with each new word, but the voice over the phone was ever calm, still and solid with a rebuttal to everything he had. Reasonable really, but Will and reason didn’t work so well that evening. And disbelief, too, mingled in this melange of emotions Dr. Lecter’s implications were sending him through.

“I’m sick,” was Will’s last defence, and he meant it in more ways than a simple cold, knowing well the Alpha would read it between the lines.

Hannibal was privy to all of his problems after all – from his strange case of repulsion to his current illness and even his most private thoughts that hid enjoyment in killing. Why he’d want a package this badly assembled, the Beta couldn’t tell even with all his empathy. But he could recognize the cues in the man’s voice, the softness with which he spoke, too gentle to be fake, too caring.

“Should I come over?”

And he would, the Alpha really would come knocking on his door at two in the morning, so Will answered sensibly. “I can’t in good conscious tell you to do that. You have work in the morning.”

The smile was palpable in Dr. Lecter’s words, a wide one that would show off his sharp teeth, thoroughly amused. “And who wouldn’t want a partner so considerate?”

The call stretched on as Hannibal told him to dress for bed and lie down. Two of his smaller dogs followed him up when Will went under the covers and snuggled close to him. The Beta managed to fall asleep with the help of mundanely inconsequential talk with his psychiatrist-or-more coming over the phone and one of his hands combing through fur.

Deep among the Virginia forests, where few roads lead and even fewer people moved, in a large heavy-built wooden barn Hannibal smiled to himself when the Beta no longer answered to the call of his name. The Alpha didn’t have work tomorrow morning, he had work right now, work he neglected for the beck and call of someone in distress in the dead hour of the night. Someone worth the inconvenience.

Hannibal set the phone aside and put his apron and gloves back on, stained beyond repair with foreign blood. These articles would not see the inside of his washroom, instead fire and gasoline at the bottom of a steel barrel. He cracked his neck and his knuckles and set back to work – the night would be longer than predicted, but fortunately a moka pot whistled from the other room.

+++

Dr. Lecter wasn’t quite as fond of her as he used to be. Little things gave him away, almost unnoticeable, but the tone of his voice was slightly colder and his enthusiasm over her craft visibly lessened. He would perk back with interest only when mentions of her new fixation were brought up, but she did so sparingly, gouging out the doctor’s level of interest in his other patient. Perhaps the trouble was fondness, and that she could understand very well. Gabby was often fond of things and people, but she was quick to claim them in her collection. The doctor should have acted faster – too late now.

“Shall I turn up the heating?” He asked politely when he noticed her sitting on her hands. Gabby dropped the rude gesture and instead tucked them under her armpits for a moment.

“That would be lovely. I’m still a little chilled from yesterday.” He made no comment as he sat down, only quirked and eyebrow and allowed her to finish if she wished. “I was scouting,” she grinned, and Dr. Lecter narrowed his eyes. “Should have brought an extra sweater, winter’s catching up.”

It wasn’t a smart thing to do, to poke him so directly, but the Omega couldn’t help herself. A certain message was already etched in the work she left for the police to find, a message she was sure he had a look at. What was it to stir a little more?

“That Will Graham is pretty strange, isn’t he? Does he always sleep walk? Looks dangerous. He could end up hurting himself like that.”

Dr. Lecter didn’t answer because they weren’t here to talk about his other patients but of her specifically. Gabby enjoyed it though, that look in the depth of his maroon eyes where there used to be infallibility but now a glimpse of regret glimmered. She liked the man, but victory over Alphas, any kind of victory really, always brought a much greater and long lasting joy in her life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, aint Will gonna have a laugh at his expense when he finds out who he open himself up to! *[sad trombone sound effect](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMpXAknykeg)*  
> Next week, Hannibal finally steps it up and drops a bouquet of his own just to prove how much better he is, and maybe also to get someone's attention again. Maybe.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14, in which Hannibal leaves his smugly superior bouquet and Will reads the message a little to well. He also goes a little coo-coo and does some strange things to his windows and almost bludgeons someone.

 

“I’m sorry Mr. Graham,” the assistant at the clinic told him, “but Dr. Sutcliffe isn’t in.” She hadn’t seen him for a couple of days now and admitted to that being strange of him. A phone call in the parking lot also came out empty.

He didn’t have anything better to do, but spending the day either in his car or in the waiting room was not appealing. Even a drive back felt difficult for Will, an hour of droning behind a wheel again that made his eyes drop. Instead he drove somewhere closer. Calling and announcing a visit was the proper thing to do, but the Beta preferred the surprise. There was a chance no one was home and he’d save himself from foolishness. Actually, the chances for no one being home were great and entirely expected, but when he rang the doorbell there was an answer. It was Will who got caught in the surprise that even a greeting was forgotten, but the Alpha just smiled and stepped aside with an invitation to come in.

“You shouldn’t walk around in your condition,” he told Will who still kept silent and stepped behind him to take his coat.

When Will woke up that morning, there was a phone next to his head, yet everything that happened prior to his sleep fell under question. The previous night felt surreal to him, wrapped in murky mist almost like a dream that he wasn’t sure happened. His sleepwalking most of all, the memory of it a stale fear that felt too much like a nightmare than reality. And while they lightly touched on the subject, just enough to clear the Beta of doubt, Hannibal never made mention the contents of their phone call, perhaps sensing the anxiousness in Will. Fear made him bold last night, but now under the glare of daylight for all the world to see, he lost said courage. The feeling was hard to eliminate, the inadequacy, the disbelief. It came with who he was, with being a Beta, so Will covered his emotional ineptitude with more important questions.

Dr. Lecter was on the phone, trying out several private numbers to reach his friend, but not before he made Will tea and a light serving of his home made sausages, relish and warm rye bread. His belly felt unfit for the food he had at home, but what he got here – with Hannibal’s apologies for the simplicity – woke up Will’s appetite like it was nothing. The sausages especially served to remind him of the first meal they shared. It felt intentional, even with the pained face Hannibal made when Will argued to be served something so folksy or nothing at all.

“I can’t seem to reach him,” Hannibal remarked with a furrowed brow as he finally set his phone down. “It’s a little odd. The man is married to his work.”

Will didn’t look much in his direction, a cowardly yet self-preserving choice, but lifting his head also took more energy than he felt he had while eating his meal, drowsiness now in full blow. He was about to suggest visiting the man’s house, or even phoning the police if the situation was so uncommon, when the Beta’s phone rang. Jack Crawford was on the line and he asked with polite urgency if he was capable of taking a look at another crime scene. He mentioned the presence of flowers and the location, an abandoned parking lot outside of Baltimore.

A no was perched on the tip of Will’s tongue, because no, he did not feel well enough, yet he agreed and even said he’d come immediately. It was the seriousness in Jack’s tone that prompted him, the underlining current of unease in his words that Will hadn’t heard since they found the sculpted man tearing his skin off in the middle of the woods. The Beta was getting up as he spoke, a consequence of his ‘immediately’, a reflexive reaction. He had all the intentions of leaving quick to see what had his boss rattled so much, to confirm his suspicions, but Hannibal stepped close and closed his hand over Will’s, taking the phone away from him. The Alpha’s tone did not shy from sharpness as he spoke to another of his kind, informing him that Will would not be there immediately but when he’s done eating and felt well enough to stand on his legs. Hannibal pushed him down to sit as he talked to Jack, hand resting on the Beta’s shoulder even as he picked up his utensils to finish eating. Will liked its heavy presence. It made him feel oddly safe.

“No need to indulge Jack with such express willingness,” Hannibal sat beside him when he was done talking to the other Alpha. The tone of his voice was chiding, but not unkind. “Your health, Will, consider it with care.”

The Beta sneaked a sidelong glance at the other man and saw concern. A vice tightened around his heart and warmed his chest, the memory of said feeling almost lost to time with how long it had been. Will felt bold enough to tackle the elephant in the room, though maybe not entirely head on.

“I’ve grown used to having very few expectations in life. As few as I can manage. Makes for a less disappointing life.”

The words must have felt like sidetracking to Hannibal, because he allowed a moment of perplexity to cross his face. But he always caught on very quickly and today was no exception. “Have you broken your cardinal rule lately?”

“Mm,” Will hummed into the cup he emptied. “Unintentionally. I miscalculated my capability for distance.” He threw another side-glance at the Alpha, face severe as he amended with, “Emotional distance.”

“Strange you should mention that,” Hannibal played along, though there was whimsy in his voice, not nearly as grave as Will’s. “I found myself in a similar predicament recently. But I do feel I’m handling it a lot better than you. Perhaps I can offer some advice?” He kept a straight face all throughout, but Will couldn’t. His smile was sombre though.

“Ever felt abandoned, Hannibal?” Will didn’t miss the barely there twitch the Alpha’s lips made at the sound of his first name.

“Yes. I’ve had expectations raised where they shouldn’t have. Once, and only once.”

Will knew there was a small chance of brutal honesty, but actually getting it struck him almost painfully. The cautious tone of Hannibal’s voice said it all; this wasn’t something many people knew, if any at all.

“Then you get it, you know why I’m wary,” the Beta turned his head back to his almost empty plate and laughed nervously over a bite of sausage when an odd thought crossed his mind. “Do we even know each other? Actually know each other? You probably do, you’re my psychiatrist and you know me too well maybe,” and that was another hornet’s nest Will shook his head over. “But I-I don’t think—do I?”

And for once in their awkward dance Will felt a protective need, but not towards himself, instead for the Alpha who exposed himself so dangerously in front of someone who might not be worth it.

“You look but you don’t see,” the man in question answered quizzically with an amused grin and leaned in, freezing the Beta for a moment in expectation, only to take the empty plate from under him. “Have we kept Jack waiting long enough or shall he wait a little longer?” Hannibal asked as he put the dishes away and gave Will a thermometer.

Their kind often came with a certain air and Hannibal was no exception. The Alpha looked a certain way and little could be done about the first visual impression until he’d speak, reveal his doctrine, and unwind the image he presented. And what he presented was imposing by most definitions; all sharp angles and a disciplinarian attitude weaved into the patterns of his tailored-to-fit suits. An image Will was unconsciously aware of until the moment he consciously noticed it gone, and left in its place were gentle smiles, strong hands packed with care, and dark eyes that couldn’t look at him in any other way but fond. The Beta remembered his own upset over his change in Hannibal’s company, but never stopped to notice it was the same in return. _You look but you don’t see,_ indeed.

His fever was a 100.8°, but he felt well enough to walk around or drive, only deep exhaustion, headache, and warm breath were there to remind him he was ill. Hannibal drove him to the location Jack left directions for, an abandoned parking lot soon to be remodelled for a new shopping mall. A flurry of officers and cars were arranged all over the wide and empty space. This spectacle was private but it still managed to bring in a large audience. Most stayed back, far enough from the gory details, though only a strange outline could be seen from a distance. A tree sprouted from concrete, and Will was quick to leave the car when it stopped to have a better look. Jack was there, ushering him through the blockade of cars as an ambulance arrived. He looked grim, tired and offended of seeing the extremities of human nature.

Of course it was left here, close to Baltimore, and not somewhere in Wolf Trap, _of course_. He knew Will would come see it where ever the hell he’d put it, this state or the other, in sickness or health. No need to leave love letters on doorsteps; that’s what children did, amateurs. Like the one crafting vases of human flesh. Child’s play.

“He's been literally grafted in place,” Jimmy Price spoke, both to his boss and Will as they approached. “These are living roots.”

“Hold your nose, Will,” Beverly added as she skirted by. “We haven’t ID-ed the victim yet, but he’s an Omega.”

Ah, but he thought of that as well. Will couldn’t fully appreciate a good look at it if there was blood around. So kind of him to remove it, drain every last drop, but presentability was also a factor. Let it not be said he did not care about the look of his tableaus. Oh he did, he cared too much, almost as much as he cared to have Will see the face of Dr. Sutcliffe suspended in a scream with a set of familiar teeth implanted in his jaw. 

“Those are varicose vines,” Brian Zeller said as he examined the branches, his face and voice giving away the fact that everything presented left him mildly impressed, but mostly just plain old horrified. “It’s threaded through from his heels, under his legs, his back, through his torso and out his fingertips.”

The Ripper followed some pretty tricky endoscopic surgical paths. A grandiose gesture like this had to be cemented with some use of hard earned skills. A master of his craft in more ways than one, and so pedantic too. This work must have taken ages, or about as long as Dr. Sutcliffe had been missing. Such pride radiated from his work, all that devotion of time and, oh, can’t forget about the grand underlining gesture, now can we?

“Nothing left inside,” Jimmy said as he examined the opening in the torso, shining a flashlight through the gaps of bundled flowers as he looked for the offal.

Belladonna for the heart, a chain of white oleander for the intestines, ragwort for the liver. All poisonous, just like the attitude of the man whose organs they now doubled for. But beautiful, weren’t they? Lovely to look at. A gorgeous bouquet, if a little deadly, but nothing less could be expected from him.

 _Exquisite, isn’t it?_ The voice was foreign but familiar in Will’s head.

 _Sowed the seeds myself. Grew them with my own hands and now I give them to you._ The Beta closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 _A long cultivated chain of events just to bring you here, to this point._ A dizzy spell was coming over him, his nose drowning in a noxious blend of rotting flesh and sickly sweet flowers.

_Do you accept my offering?_

A strong hand braced him by the shoulders. Will must have swayed on his feet because the look on Jack was puzzled concern. “You ok?” The Beta remained mute to the question, only a quick nod was given.

“I don’t get it,” Jimmy exclaimed. “Why’d the copy cat take everything? Usually he only settles for one trophy. He even took the spleen! Who takes a spleen?” He looked with disbelief at his boss. “Is he making sausages, or what?” Now he looked at Will, searching for answers from the profiler. And while obvious to everyone involved that half of what the Omega said was a joke, Will didn’t quite take it that way. He considered it instead, and found a conclusion that shocked him for not reaching it sooner.

“I wouldn’t rule it out. All of this started with Hobbs, didn’t it? And in its most basic psychological definition, cannibalism is an act of dominance. Remind you of anyone?” He was thinking of The Ripper, everyone else thought of the copy cat. Jack was the only one suspended with both thoughts.

Will asked for all the new files to be sent to his home before retreating with a promise he’d have something for them.

“J-just not now,” he backed away and walked to his car feeling sick to his stomach and unsure in his footing. He got half way there before he realised he didn’t even help them identify the victim. For better perhaps, that would just keep him there longer and with questions about his health he didn’t want to answer yet. Not that there was anything to answer.

Hannibal stayed in the car, advised so by officers. He didn’t know and Will wasn’t sure if he had the stomach to tell him who was back there, grafted and displayed.

“Please don’t ask me anything,” he managed when he sat in the car. “Just get me home.”

Half an hour ago on the road the Beta would’ve thought it wise to invite the man home, but now the last thing Will wanted was more thoughts of courtship. He had had enough of it looking at Dr. Sutcliff’s remains. The Alpha was considerate, not just of his quiet and reserved attitude, but his need to be alone with his thoughts for a while. Will missed the grin on his face, part amused and part admiring, as he exited the car.

Hannibal sent an anonymous e-mail to TattleCrime.com that evening.

+++

“Everything all right?” Jack called the next day when the files reached Will through a trainee.

“Peachy.”

“Anything you want to share? It’s not often I see you this spooked.”

A sigh akin to resignation came out of Will and his heated mind made his tongue work faster than his thinking could manage. “I think I’m being stalked.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I think the killers are stalking me.”

That drew a significant pause from Jack. “I don’t know how to take this information. What’re you—”

“I don’t know Jack, I don’t know anything anymore. But I guess both you and I will have our answers if I get kidnapped in the next few days.”

Another long pause, and then, “How’s your fever?”

“Getting worse.”

“Get some rest,” a tired rejection, but Will didn’t expect this to go anywhere, not when saying it out loud made him question his own sanity as well as cast suspicious looks to his outdoor surroundings. He really didn’t know what to think anymore, other than the fact that thinking was getting equally exhausting as walking.

The Beta hung up the call and continued dragging planks of wood from his shed to his home. No amount of doubt in his sanity made him any less scared of his own words, and those damn windows of his weren’t helping.

He was nailing the third plank across his porch window when he heard a car slowly pull towards his property. Will didn’t bother turning around to check who it was because it didn’t matter; his killers wouldn’t come in cars and not this early in the evening. Car doors opened and closed, feet paced over rubble and grass and slowed when they reached the porch, observing wordlessly the man hammering planks across his windows.

“You’re really convinced, aren’t you?” It wasn’t a voice will wanted to hear, not now, and it made him stop. “Some would call this crazy. Are you crazy, Mr. Graham?”

Will turned his head to look Freddie Lounds in the eyes. She smiled immediately, one of her safe and non-threatening gestures. She was all huddled up in her green coat, hands deep in the pockets. _Good,_ Will thought. The cold would driver her away sooner.

“I’m not here to judge,” she continued, seeing as Will had nothing to say yet kept his eyes on her. “I’m actually here to extend an olive branch. And get a good story out of it.” Freddie must have known that last comment wasn’t doing her any favours, but there was some appreciation in honesty. It also saved Will backtalk.

“I can get my hands on a lot of interesting information from Agent Crawford’s division,” a prideful grin had her. “But the craziest bits are always the most interesting. News reached me that you think these killers are talking to you.”

She stepped onto his porch and Will turned towards her in full. The words from her mouth surprised and riled him – that was not something a lot of people were privy to.

“What better way for you to reach them than for us to establish a little business partnership.” She was on his porch but cautious in approach. “I believe you once mentioned in a class of yours that some of them are quite interested in my website,” and Freddie was back to flaunting all the little info she could juice out of people surrounding him. “What do you say?”

Will didn’t say much at first, and just stood there, silent and unmoving like a statue. It unnerved her, the innate calmness in him and their surroundings. Only Will’s sunken sleepless eyes betrayed how far from calm he was. The colour washed from his face didn’t do him any favours in Freddie’s eyes, but she held her ground and waited for a response. A practical and goal oriented woman, not afraid to stomp her heels into another’s wound to get the job done. She was here for a story after all, and there in was one of many problems buzzing through Will’s mind.

Will stepped closer and asked, “Who gave you that information?” Only two people knew and would never let that slip in front of Freddie Lounds. “Accepting fan mail from serial killers now?”

The reaction was confusion but she managed to follow his train of thought. “Guess so,” she couldn’t have sounded more smug if she tried. “Certainly makes for a more sensational story. See? We’re already collaborating splendidly.”

It could have been no one else to send that mail but The Ripper, and the thought weighted on Will, throwing absolute clarity and confirmation at all the thinking he considered paranoid. Fear made him angrier.

“Of course, of course,” Will laughed and made grand gestures with his hands, the hammer swinging along. “Story always first. Before safety,” he stepped closer, “before moral obligations,” she stepped back, “before empathy for the lives it makes difficult,” her face turned concerned when she hit the railing, “before even thinking,” Will gripped tighter the hammer, words now seeping through his teeth, “before even using that head of yours to think that maybe, just maybe, some people don’t ever want to see your mug again.”

She eyed the space for escape to Will’s left, too short to consider jumping over the fence, and took it, thinking herself nimble enough to squirm away from the sick Beta. But Will grabbed her by the arm as she tried to pass him and knocked her with unexpected strength back against the railing. “Greed over reason,” he hissed as Freddie yelped, thick wood hitting hard against her back. Will held on to her arm and squeezed to bruise, hammer raising over his head in a swift motion that left Freddie petrified with fear and the only thing left in her power was to scream.

The hammer came down hard and it would have cracked her skull had Will not had the reasoning in him to control his hand. The blow was so furious it took of a chunk of wood in the railing where it landed.

“Get off my property,” Will growled as he let go of her hand and watched her flee. She had no warning for him, no snide remarks or insult, no threat to be back with the police. Freddie said nothing as she bolted for her car and drove away as fast and as sloppily as possible.

This would be tomorrow’s sensational story on her blog, but Will didn’t care. He took a moment to calm down and then he resumed hammering the planks of wood in place. He worked until seven thirty when Hannibal drove by, and only when his Alpha arrived to take the tools away from him and usher him back into the warmth of the house, only then did Will realise how little he ate or drank that day and how very close he was to killing someone in a fit of rage. The Beta broke down as he was retelling the story.

“What’s happening to me,” he shivered like a leaf from the grief inside him and covered his eyes with his palm to hide the searing tears of frustration. “Tell me what’s happening to me!”

Hannibal had no answer to offer him other than an embrace, a shoulder to cry on as the Alpha’s arms worked soothingly across his back, and Dr. Sutcliffe’s roasted heart warming in the oven.

+++

Will didn’t achieve function until late in the afternoon, spending most of his time under mounds of blankets with the occasional venture into the vertical world to open the door for his dogs. He suspected Hannibal had given him a sedative the night before because he didn’t remember the man leaving or himself going to sleep. The Beta didn’t hold it against him; he was a mess last night. Food was also set out for his dogs in a manner too neat to be his own doing – each bowl filled with precisely equal amounts of kibble and lined up in the kitchen – and the remains of dinner foil-wrapped in the fridge, kitchen clean and spotless without a dish in sight. Hannibal left his mark and he also left the keys to the house under the rug, a note indicating the location on Will’s work desk. The Alpha didn’t say when or if he’d come again, but Will figured he would. Last night was a surprise so this one would be as well.

The Beta sat by his desk in the early evening, wrapped in a bathrobe and drinking coffee. His free hand played with the empty orange bottle of medication Hannibal gave him. Will kept forgetting to ask where he got those, but even now his mind was far away from that question. Seeing as he couldn’t and didn’t feel like stepping outside for some fresh air to clear his pulsing head, the Beta dealt with his exhaustion and rising temperature by working. The work was entirely in his head as he studied pictures and read files, determined to make some progress on the _copy cat_ case. He couldn’t touch the fledgling killer’s files though, afraid how his mind would turn all those details frighteningly more personal than before. Unsoundly persona, he thought, ridiculous. So Will studied The Ripper’s latest sounder of three plus one and his obsessive need to point something out that it made him break norm. There was familiarity here, comfort in the mindscape of an old acquaintance, and Will never once stopped to think how strange that was considering he felt himself a target.

“You look but you don’t see,” he said in a half whisper, unsure of where he’d heard that before.

The Beta’s grip tightened over the empty bottle as he watched the love song that was Dr. Sutcliffe’s remains. A feast for the hungry and an offering of love. Practical. There was a thought slowly unfurling in his head, dangerous and sinister with what it revealed, and Will could almost tasted the answers when his concentration snapped and a noise broke through the mist he’d lock himself in to study the crimes.

The Beta wasn’t even sure what he heard, or if it was just another noise in his head. No animal sounds and his windows were blocked, but the noise, a thump and a crack of old wood, repeated itself and Will looked up because he thought he heard it from the floor above. Nothing sounded for a good long minute and Will had all the intentions to ignore it as his mind playing tricks again, but his dogs reacted with heads turned and ears perked. Two of them even walked over to the closed door that led upstairs, tails wagging in expectation.

Will scrambled for a gun with all the might in his tired muscles when he saw the knob turn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little time constricted lately so I haven't had the time to thoroughly check for spelling errors. Sorry about that :/  
> Next week we find out how Will handles kidnapping and other charming things. The finish line is in sight! Soon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15, where Will has a gr8 time being captured by a talkative serial killer. The ordeal that leaves Will traumatized has Hannibal so excited he can't wait to put a ring on it. So he does.

 

The screen door banged on the wind and light was coming from the inside, seeping through the gaps in the planks shielding the windows. Front door was unlocked with no sign of breaking in. Dogs howled and howled from the inside.

Hannibal entered the house. A small white Maltipoo was running nervously around the room and barking, stopping every few laps to scratch against the kitchen door that held most of his friends back. The contents of Will’s desk were spread across the floor, coffee table turned over, glass of the liquor cabinet broken and spotted with blood. A gun lay on the floor.

Hannibal took in a deep breath through his nose, the residue of the Beta’s scent warm and endless in his house, and released the air through his mouth. The Alpha was entirely unaccustomed to the levels of anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Needlessly, he thought, because Hannibal knew exactly where the Beta was taken and he could do something about it.

If he wanted to.

He didn’t call the police because it didn’t matter. They wouldn’t find him fast enough, and Hannibal certainly wasn’t going to tell them where Will was through anonymous means. Worried or not, this was still a trial by fire and the Alpha had all the intentions of seeing it through. He quickly swept the signs of battle from the house, setting it back in order, and released the dogs from the kitchen. He locked the house and drove off, but he didn’t go home to Baltimore. Instead he took a detour for Columbia in order to find a house with a large lush garden and few neighbours. A house he once tailed his patient too.

There was a tiny window from the basement behind the house and it was sloppily painted black. Hannibal crouched and listened, ignoring the way the soil would ruin his Italian leather shoes, as well as his dangerously compulsive instincts to do something other than wait and enjoy the front row seat.

+++

His attacker had a mean right hook, but the odds wouldn’t have been in Will’s favour even if he were healthy. The chain of power was never in the Beta’s favour, both Alphas and Omegas physically surpassing them in strength. The gun he grabbed went down a few moments after a sharp blade got set under Mitzzy’s throat. The playful thing didn’t even realise it was being threatened – she kept trying to lick the attacker’s ski-mask covered face. No words from them, only a look towards the dogs and a look towards the kitchen. Will didn’t trust his aim, certainly not after the dog yelped and a bit of red tinted her white fur. He complied, but what followed after was a brawl instigated by Will’s refusal to turn around and accept his fate. Where he found the strength to swing back not even he could tell. Mitzzy just barked vigorously, and when Will got thrown against the glass cabinet and cried in pain, she even used her teeth on the assailant’s leg. It ment little, but it gave away the Omega’s gender. The growl that had the dog cowering was distinctly female.

And then the right hook came in and Will was left dazed and confused, slipping constantly between dreams and consciousness with a splitting headache. He dreamt he ran through the woods and something dark followed, but the Beta couldn’t see what. The big black wolf was there too, hide made of shifting shadows, and it wasn’t hunting him but leading him, running in a pace impossibly fast that it made no sense for Will’s two legs to be able to follow. But he was following, and he wasn’t quite himself either.

By the time the vehicle stopped, Will had full consciousness in the back of the trunk, but it didn’t take effort to fake limp drowsiness – it was how he felt. She tied his hands and legs and set him down on the cold concrete floor of her basement, but not before examining for damage. A piece of sharp glass lodged itself into Will left arm and he was barely aware of that pain through the ache in his head. She pulled it out and treated it quickly with a cloth to prevent bleeding. She would have done more, oddly concerned with the damage, but noise from the upper floor distracted her. Doors opening and closing, multiple voices, feet walking through the house. Will cracked an eye open just enough to get a better look at her – long auburn hair collected in a pony tail, freckled face, mid thirties, dark blue eyes. For a moment he thought he saw Abigail Hobbs, but there was a familiarity in her features besides the young Hobbs girl.

“I need to start picking better tenants,” she sighed and got up, turned off the lights and headed upstairs.

Will didn’t miss her placing the piece of glass on a table some ten feet away, but it took him great effort to get up and crawl in the dark towards it.

She was very quick to come back and flip the light switch on. Three steps before reaching the ground she stopped and smiled knowing at Will.

“Been moving around a little, have you?” Her smile widened, “Good. Means you’re awake.” She seemed unperturbed as she walked over to him and grabbed him by the shoulder to lift him up in a sitting position. “Don’t try anything funny, Mr. Graham,” she stood up and gestured with arms splayed in both directions. “I’m used to catching fish a lot more dangerous than you.”

The light was painful to his eyes and it took him a while to stop seeing spots, but when he did, Will had something interesting to see. What he saw of the room was full of people set on display, four male and one female, all terribly beautiful. Some posed nude and others with choice clothing reminiscent of Ancient Greece, but more than that their poses reminded of famous marble sculptures. One of the males Will recognized was posed as The Thinker, while the female took on the shape of Venus de Milo, arms missing and all. Their eyes had a sparkling life-like quality, and the skin was flawless and vibrant with a healthy tan and rosy cheeks. They looked so alive.

Will’s face betrayed fascination. This took a lot of work.

“Taxidermy,” she said as she walked over to her Venus and tucked the fabric around her waist a little more securely. “But skin preservatives are a tricky thing.” A stray hair was tucked away from Venus’ face. “Let’s just say I spend a lot of money on beauty products,” and she cleared a tiny smudge only she could see from Venus’ face and only then did the doll lose its life-like quality, when skin refused to behave like there was flesh underneath.

A sculptor, a taxidermist, a student of the history of arts, and a vigorous hunter of Alphas. She probably kept them alive as she worked long and hard on the blueprints of the cast that would hold their skin, revelling in their inability to escape their fate – a psychological sadist. But she also picked with an eye for beauty, all her victims being terribly gorgeous. They did her no wrong, they were just born wrong in her eyes. Something deep seated and ugly laid at the foundations of her distastes for Alphas.

“Why am I here?” Will asked, because he was not a part of her design.

She took out a medical kit from a cupboard to treat his wounds, to fix the damages in the skin she held dear. “Sometimes I find remarkable beauty without the inherent ugliness,” and she pointed to a part of the basement behind Will.

He turned his head and caught with the corner of his sight two more sculptures – a woman posed as Lady Justice with a fake sword and scales, and a young teenage boy with long wavy golden hair posed and coloured as the bronze statue of David – and Will had to assume by her words that they weren’t Alphas. Choices of whim equally beautiful, but not quite worth the praise as her Alpha sculptures.

“And sometimes I find beauty striving to be ugliness,” where before her words were soft and pleasant, now they took on a rough scolding tone.

The Omega sat down across Will, legs crossed like they were friends having a chat, not a bone in her body worried about the Beta acting out, utterly certain of her supremacy in the situation. She put aside the first aid kit and gave him an honest-to-god look of concern.

“Honey, I get it. I really do,” and she extended her hand to pet his head and the side of his face, brow furrowed slightly in worry. “The great big lie we built our world on has gotten to you and I get it. It almost got to me too,” she sighed and moved her hand to caress the poorly wrapped wound on his arm. It stung.

“It’s not easy being a Beta,” she continued. “I’m not blind to it. In fact, I have a lot of sympathy for you. Because you can’t see it. They won’t let you!” The Omega got agitated and slightly vexed at an absent entity and grabbed both of his upper arms with her hands in a tight squeeze. The stinging amplified.

“I’m beyond being fooled,” her tone dipped low and dangerous as she leaned in while Will tried to lean away. “History classes can’t shut up about their conquests and their wars and their leaders and the world they built, somehow commonly forgetting about the rest of us. Isn’t it odd?”

Not knowing what prompted the rant, Will had no answer for her but a gulp. He often forgot how dangerous an Omega could truly be, and this one frightened him with her intensity. She did kill Alphas for sport, after all. But there was also bitter palpable misery to her Will couldn’t overlook, or ignore as it laced itself in her words.

“Just look at our incarceration facilities; they work to suppress what used to be their most qualifying ability. It’s the only thing they’re good for anyway – murder, mayhem, and uncontrollable impulses. The world has evolved beyond them.” She took a few breaths to clear the rage in her voice and leaned away, arms falling off Will.

“So why do we all still behave like they’re in charge,” the Omega continued in a manner more calm but still dripping with venom, “when they are so clearly beneath us?” The question was rhetorical and she looked Will right in the eyes when she said, “You don’t crawl at the bottom of the food chain, honey. You never did. _They_ do.”

And Will saw in her eyes all the disdain she held for Alphas, rooted in the mind of a small child who hated the hand she was dealt, the stories she was told, and the rules she was taught to follow. Maybe there was a father in it all that began her tirade of hate with his or hers incompetence or, worse, abuse. Maybe it was her desperate attempts to connect and find mates, to fulfil the social goal everyone taught her to have in a world where none could dignify themselves above adolescent bullshit in their need to claim and take and give so little of themselves in return. Somewhere in there hid her snapping point when she probably did just that – a quick snap of the neck to a partner so blissfully unaware in the presumed safety of her company. Her first blood did her no wrong, few would after their adolescent years, but the idea was cemented in her mind, feeding the hate into a monster until all she could see in them was their faults.

There was so much truth in her words and it was unfortunate it all came from such a wrong place.

The rope around Will’s hands was very loose now from the sharp piece of glass he guarded between clasped hands and used sparingly. So closely embedded in the Omega’s viewpoint, he almost couldn’t bring himself to use it. Almost, because at the end of his foray in her shoes, he still saw himself as a part of her collection, quick to die in captivity when the damage was sanitized.

She was too relaxed, too secure, guilty herself of underestimating him much like she accused Alphas of doing the same only a moment ago. The movement was unexpected and the piece of glass now lodged in her neck didn’t kill her, only crippled and made furious. But Will had no intentions of laying down and dying, not without a fight.

+++

“Does Will seem fine to you? Generally speaking.”

The question was a little unexpected during early afternoon coffee break, especially coming from Beverly. She rarely came to him with questions of concern.

“He’s got a cold,” Jack answered flatly over a sip of coffee.

“Oh come on, you know that’s not what I mean. He’s been acting really weird lately.” Beverly looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to them, and then she spoke in a half whisper, “Caught Dr. Bloom this morning. Asked her a little about him. She kept neutral, but I know concern when I see it, and that woman was practically vibrating from it when I mentioned his name.” She left it at that and waited to see if Jack had anything to add.

He did, after a few long gulps.

“Few days ago he told me he think the serial killers we’re investigating are trying to contact him.” Beverly gawked at her boss’ words. “Then yesterday Freddie Lounds published slander about an attempt at her life,” he figured that’s what prompted Beverly into questioning mode.

Jack didn’t confront Will about it yet, but he intended to, though maybe not now with the Beta’s health in decline. He called Dr. Lecter instead, but only got a confession from him that he hadn’t had a proper session with Will in a while now. He sounded worried as well.

“Do you believe her article?” Beverly didn’t know what to think about it, but knowing Miss Lounds anything was possible. It did go into heavy detail, most of which cast terrible shades on Will’s mental state.

“I don’t know what I believe,” Jack shook his head, considering his profiler’s words lately, his actions and behaviour, and the alleged attack on Freddie Lounds. “But I want to know what sort of virus fries someone’s brain so badly they aren’t even behaving like themselves.”

A few hours later he got a call from an unknown number. Will sounded like shit on the other end, but what he said had the Alpha running quickly down the Academy halls and calling in backup.

Rosy dusk settled across the sky by the time they found the poorly marked house in Columbia, Maryland, and Will in there, sitting at the top of the stairway that led down into the basement, wrapped in someone’s blanket. He didn’t just sound terrible, but looked it; deep dried cuts on his blood-covered hands, bruises on his neck and face, breathing shallow and heavy. He hardly had a dash of colour in his face. The Beta looked half in shock, but when he recognized Jack’s face he nudged his head towards the basement where a body lay covered with a white sheet, a third of it soaked in blood that by now turned the colour of rust. Jack didn’t question him, aware through their short phone call that he spent the night passed out in here. He squeezed the Beta reassuringly on the shoulder as he passed him by to have a better look at the killer, though he got spooked and fooled at the sight of her previous victims.

The paramedics took Will away and he said nothing and asked for nothing other than someone to pass him a phone so he could do one more call. He didn’t have the energy to respond when Hannibal answered the call, but hearing his voice made a world of difference.

+++

He watched Will sleep in silence until the smell of his broth got overpoweringly present and threatened to wake him. The Beta looked banged up – arms wrapped in bandages and a few band-aids over the cuts on his face – but there was colour in his cheeks now, antibiotic and IV fluid doing their best and fighting off his fever, if only for a little while. When his eyes peeled opened, they found Hannibal’s immediately and the smile was warm and pleased to see the Alpha. Infectious, as Hannibal returned it.

“I can’t leave, can I?” Will was slow and careful to sit up and get out of bed, refusing the help that lingered by his side. He felt terribly sore and sluggish from the injuries but revitalized by the medication, and his head in turn felt a lot clearer after such a long and deep sleep.

“I think they might want to keep you for another day,” Hannibal’s hand hovered over the Beta’s back as he regained footing and walked to the table set out for them. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

He served them both warm bowls of amber liquid that were left to cool while Will woke up. A hint of anise tinged the air and Will poked at the black piece of meat with his spoon in wonder.

“Silkie chicken in a broth,” and the Beta raised an eyebrow at that, words meaning little to him. “A black boned bird prized in China for its medicinal value since the 7th century. With wolfberries, ginseng, ginger, red dates and star anise.”

Will smiled at his glorified chicken soup and had a taste. It was certainly unique, not one he’d ever tasted before. “I’m sorry about Dr. Sutcliffe,” he said after his degustation, certain that by now Hannibal knew. And he did, though the Alpha’s face didn’t fall a great deal at the mention of his name. Friends, certainly, but clearly not close.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it. A lot of things do.”

A silence stretched as Hannibal watched the other intently until he raised his head away from the bowl. “Would you like to talk about what happened?”

“I haven’t even talked to Jack about it.”

“I have his express permission if it concerns you, and I’d insist you talk to me first before leaving any statements with the authorities,” Hannibal slipped into his less warm and more professional persona of the psychiatrist, though his eyes still betrayed care.

There was only one person to whom he felt comfortable talking about this, but where they stood now made it strange for Will. “I don’t think you should be my psychiatrist anymore,” and there was a sense of disappointment in the words, because who else could the Beta tell these things.

Hannibal must have agreed with him in a way, because he dropped the cool approach with his next words, “I’m not asking as a concerned psychiatrist, I’m asking as a concerned lover.” Will had no response for that, other than a tug of his heart and a sense of his blood creeping to colour his skin. The Alpha seemed to enjoy his skittish response and he smiled in turn, adding, “I’m familiar with you, Will. I know what I’m likely to hear.”

“Do you?” Even for his own benefit, Will failed to break eye contact, a part of him still stuck playing Hannibal’s words on loop.

“That it was self defence in its truest form,” Hannibal took another spoonful, talking about the incident with some nonchalance, “that you clawed for your life and nearly lost it, and yet you still managed to find a sense of enjoyment in it.” No judgement in the Alpha’s voice, only curiosity.

“I was fighting for my life,” Will exclaimed in anger and he remembered the precise moment when things turned in his favour, when the Omega succumbed to the wound in her neck, when she was down and defenceless, when Will wasn’t in danger anymore and he had no reason to fight his own nausea and injuries and stand above her, choking and pushing that piece of glass further in until eyes glazed over. For a blissful moment he felt his anger quenched, a lust inside him satisfied, and maybe he even smiled in victory before passing out. “But you’re not wrong,” he added quietly.

“You once called death a mercy for criminals like her, considering what waited form them in jail. Did you think of mercy when you killed her?”

“No,” the Beta admitted without pause for thought, and he smiled morosely as he said, “but I still think I did her a favour.” He broke eye contact then, shame overwhelming him. He felt he lost a sense of himself in that basement, like he wouldn’t recognize his reflection anymore. He couldn’t rationalize what went through his mind and it was frightening.

“Don’t berate yourself,” Hannibal said. His hand found Will’s and squeezed in tight assurance. “You were attacked, scared, you lashed out. You survived. And I’m very glad you did. And given a choice, any of us would choose death over incarceration. I, for one, find it a lot more ethical.”

Will whispered, “D-does Jack know any of this?”

“No, and he won’t.”

That shouldn’t have brought as much comfort as it did. Jack wasn’t even aware of his connection to Dr. Sutcliffe – the man didn’t have Will’s exams on record, or someone went through the trouble of eliminating that. Both were eerily possible. Will considered again with his new found lucidity how the idea of being hounded by The Ripper sounded. But an approach like this – an invasion of the home and abduction – that didn’t sound like him at all. Will couldn’t picture it. Too crude for the man taking shape in his head. He’d have something more elegant in mind. Something worse. Will couldn’t picture that either.

+++

“Alana was kind enough to take care of your dogs,” Hannibal clarified when the Beta stepped into an empty and dark home.

He didn’t know what sort of persuasion skills Hannibal used on the doctor, but he managed to get him released and that was all that mattered to Will. He turned on a small lamp on his table that cast dim light around the house, his eyes somewhat sensitive to proper lighting. The emptiness disturbed Will and he did not enjoying the thought of spending time alone in his house. Every creak of wood had him turning his head. The event left him more scared than he considered, even if he came out on top.

Hannibal came in a moment later, leaving his prescription meds on the table and depositing food he prepared upfront in the fridge. The Beta sat in his armchair, mindful of the injuries, and picked off a bottle of whiskey that stood behind the curtains. Glasses were too far away but Hannibal fixed that, poured them a drink and sat in the adjacent armchair that rarely saw use. They just sat there in comfortable silence for a long while, Hannibal’s hand wrapped gently around his wrist. The hour was late and he’d have to leave soon.

Will had little to offer the Alpha with how banged up he was, other than a set of serviceably fitting cotton pyjamas, a bed barely fit for two, and a long early morning drive back to town. But he asked anyway, feeling desperate from the oncoming solitude. His thoughts would not be pleasant company, and neither would his dreams or the places it could take him.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” he admitted, not looking at the other man for answers in the dim light.

“You won’t,” and Hannibal was pleased. Will could hear it in the low timbre of the Alphas voice, could feel it in the intensity of his maroon gaze, could smell how appreciative he was when he helped Will get to his room and change.

Impulses overwhelmed him even when he was unsure if he could finish what he started, but the Beta went for that kiss when he was left shirtless and they both drowned in slow unhurried passion. Hannibal was maddeningly careful as they lay down, and it only drove the Beta to embrace him with more passion, craving every inch of the Alpha he could get under his hands and lips. Half of their clothes were still on and in the way when Will spread his legs to accommodate them better and with more purpose, ignoring the ache of his injuries.

Hannibal’s response was an attentive grind that drove low and pleased noises from the Beta. The skin of his shoulder, bare and exposed, called to him, and Hannibal would have wanted to leave his mark on a place more exposed and visible. But Will wouldn’t like that, and some lines had to be drawn.

“I can’t—” Will gasped when he felt teeth graze his skin, the last of his defences crumbling, a final unconscious attempt to sabotage his own happiness. “I can’t give you a family.”

Hannibal was surprised to hear it, mentions of an offhand detail shared long ago. He didn’t even consider Will dwelling on it. But of course he would, of course he cared. The Alpha chuckled and trailed kisses along his neck and gently over the bruises now blooming olive. Actions spoke louder than words of reassurance ever could and Will yelped in pain when dangerously sharp teeth sank into the meat of his shoulder, deeper than they should in the Alpha’s eagerness. Blood stained the pillow and the sheets, stained Hannibal’s teeth and mouth and chin, and Will felt dizzy with joy and pain.

His cry curved into a low rumbling whine when his Alpha lapped at the damage with his tongue, slow and meticulous, drinking up every drop he could catch.

Will was drunk on Hannibal’s pheromones, such clear indicators of the Alpha’s wants – _his_ Alpha now, and no one else’s. Will only wished he could leave a mark on the man in turn.

And he had in irrevocable ways that left marks on Hannibal’s mind. He worried about those marks as he lay next to Will listening to the breathing that turned shallow, feeling his skin heat again, and counting the number of irregular heartbeats. What didn’t worry him was Will finally opening his eyes and seeing him. That was a given, a necessity, and Hannibal suspected it was a matter of moments not days. He wanted it, looked forward to the moment they could both look at each other with masks off...

...If the Beta survived. Hannibal chose not to dwell on the negative outcome until the precise moment it happened. Needles torture otherwise.

Will stirred, a kick and a murmur of words before going still again. The alpha wrapped hands around him and pushed him close against his chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While an explicit reveal will happen in 2 chapters (which, I think, is all that's left of the story), I'm certain this chapter shed a lot of light on Will's condition. *twirls mustache* I'll be curious to know how many I fooled or kept so long in unknowing suspense.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16, where Jack grows a bit suspicious and Will finally stops to think about some thing. The thinking does him no good and it only ends in an angry confrontation with Hannibal and a trip to the hospital. Dr. Lecter's games are finally brought to light - what did he do to Will?

 

It was still dark when Will stirred awake, but not from any unpleasant dream. A murky image of his black nightmare hound sitting at the foot of his bed followed him out of sleep, and he couldn’t tell if he imagined it or dreamt it. He turned slowly and found the other side of his bed warm but vacant. Hannibal, almost fully dressed, was doing his tie without any assistance of a mirror.

“What time is it?” The Beta barely pushed himself up by the elbows, feeling heavy and sluggish in part from his injuries, but also from clear signs of his fever breaking out again.

Hannibal noticed his struggle and sat beside him with a cool hand over his forehead. “It’s past five. And your fever returned,” he frowned. “Be sure to take your antibiotics, else I’ll have to insist we go back to the hospital.”

Tea was already steeping, and the taste of reminded Will why he hated making his own after being spoiled by actual tea leaves. The breakfast Hannibal prepared was for two and more than enough waited for Will to drudge his way over from the bathroom. He was stuck in there for a long time battling injuries to get out of his clothes for a quick shower. Everything would heal, except for the fresh teeth marks that stood out bright and deep on his skin. The thought kept him smiling, hand unconsciously seeking it out when nerves would get the better of him and he’d see shadows moving outside his small frosted window.

Before leaving for work Hannibal asked, “Will you be fine alone?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The Alpha didn’t dignify him with a clarification. “Alana will bring the dogs over. I’ll be fine.”

But the Alpha wasn’t only worried about him being left alone after a traumatic event, it went deeper than that, Will knew and he ignored addressing it until the other brought it up.

“You had suspicions for more than one killer eyeing you, Will. You’d feel safer with me in Baltimore.”

“I refuse to be scared out of my own home,” Will found the resolve to sound indignant. No part of him could begin to doubt his own words, no matter how astronomical the possibility seemed. Perhaps, with his mind too sick to think properly, something cross-wired and he projected wrong theories on the wrong killer. And perhaps he was absolutely right, and that too came with its conclusions. “The Ripper wouldn’t do that. Kidnapping. Too boring for him.”

Hannibal wasn’t satisfied with what he got, but he accepted it. Everything would be a lot easier if Will would agree to come to Baltimore, but he was being bull-headed. He was also correct. The Beta won’t last long, maybe another day or two, and Hannibal had all the intentions of being there when it happened, to see his gambit come to fruition or blow up in his face. With it revelations would come to light, but a bond was there and set in stone. Only time would tell if that ment anything.

A parting kiss slow and soft, threatening to consume more time than he had, and the Alpha promised to come again that evening.

+++

Gabby Bale, publically dubbed by various news outlets as The Florist, kept a very private and secretive life. Her tenant that was spending the weekend with the boyfriend could attest to that. The girl was utterly shocked to find out who she was living with and could tell the police even less. The only worthwhile bit of information she managed to catch was that the Omega had been seeing a psychiatrist in Baltimore. No records of who it might be were found among Bale’s things, and very few phone calls made overall to shed some light. The only notes that woman kept with great detail were the notes relating to her work in the basement. That’s how they discovered where the remains of her victims were – deep buried compost for her lush garden. Meat and bone and paper were found after a lot of digging and a few flipped stomachs.

Jack was certain somewhere in her life, something right in front of their noses, was hiding a detail that would take them to the copy cat who so far eluded all efforts of capture. The more the Alpha considered how crazy and baseless Will’s connections sounded, that much more he began doubting himself. What if it really was him, The Ripper? How wide was this net of deception? How often was Will ever wrong? Jack promised Dr. Lecter that he wouldn’t bother Will with statements, not until the Beta felt better, but he couldn’t stop his own instinct to track clues where he felt they existed.

Jack Crawford came by in the afternoon and was greeted by a hoard of eager dogs, windows blocked with wooden planks nailed to the side of the house just as Miss Lounds’ article had said, and Will looking no less worse for wear. He moved slowly around the house and not from his injuries, Jack suspected.

“I’m surprised you didn’t send someone to collect a statement,” Will said as he handed over a drink to his boss with slightly shaky hands. “Everything ok?”

“Stuck on a lead, but I’m not here for statements. It can wait.” He watched Will sit down very careful. “How are you feeling?”

The Beta huffed, looking exhausted and pale and needing at least another week of sleep. The bruises he earned in the fight with the Omega stuck out vibrantly on his skin. Jack was surprised in the most pleasant sense to find him alive after a fight like that – a lot of factors were against him, and yet he managed.

“I think I’ll check myself back into the hospital tomorrow,” Will said finally. The day only progressed worse and worse. With each passing hour Will felt his fever further rising, appetite dropping, and worst of all he misplaced the antibiotic since that morning. Parting with his dogs so soon was part of why he opted to call the ambulance the next day – a poor choice for personal health but he missed them dearly, and they him in turn.

“I disregarded a lot of your opinions because you were acting strange and sick. But I found myself considering them lately.”

Will’s eyes widened in surprise. “About The Ripper?”

“Yes. Not to mention a few days after you tell me you might be kidnapped you end up being kidnapped by a serial killer. Your statement about Gabby Bale isn’t top priority. The forensics told us enough. But maybe you’d want to tell me why you think these killers were trying to get in contact with you, or if they’re connected.”

Jack used plural, but Will knew what his boss wanted to know concerned none other than the copy cat, or The Ripper as he now considered it, though he could see Jack felt awkward saying it out loud.

“I got famous on the internet lately, didn’t I? Courtesy of Freddie Lounds,” Will chuckled darkly, still remembering their last encounter though he knew nothing about the article describing it. He was certain it existed, because Jack’s face turned into a hard set of line when he heard her name. There’d be questions about that too, but not today, so the Beta carried on with his tale.

“Maybe that’s how he found me. Maybe I caught his interest and maybe he discovered I used to work on his case. He’s a man of games, our Ripper, and he would want to leave elaborate puzzles for us to solve. Tailor-made murders,” the Beta muttered the last few words.

It still bothered him he couldn’t decipher their meaning. A metamorphosis of flesh, yes, but what else, he didn’t know. Will sank into his armchair as he thought of further possibilities, scenarios unfolding in front of his eyes until one felt real enough to share with Jack.

“Maybe I’ve shaken his hand. Maybe I know him, because he certainly feels like he knows me... In some capacity. He wouldn’t kill me, wouldn’t whisk me away somewhere. He’d play until he’d run out of fun and interest. Maybe make the games personal,” Will’s eyes focused back and he caught the confused stare of his boss. “And maybe I’m still too sick to be considering this properly,” his smile was apologetic and weak.

The Alpha didn’t even know the full story of his sickness, but soon he would. Will didn’t know how to hide it anymore, or if he’d be able to at all. “I’m not well, Jack. And it’s not just the fever that’s bothering me.”

Jack sat there in silent thought for a while, swishing his drink before he set it down untouched. The Beta was apprehensive to talk about his health, meaning there was much more to him than just a fever. Jack threw out a question that popped into his head with sudden clarity, “When did it start?” For a moment, he was as confused about the direction of his own question as Will looked hearing it, so the Alpha elaborated, “When did your health problems start?”

The question was a whim, and impulse, benign an innocent, a health concern, but Will saw beneath it the thought process of his boss. He was the head of Behavioural Science Unit for a reason, after all, and the Beta was shocked he never even considered it. “I-I’m not sure,” he answered truthfully. This he’d have to mull in private.

Jack left him to rest, promising he’d have a car keep an eye out on his house tomorrow. The planks on the windows made awkward sense to him suddenly.

“What are you stuck on,” Will asked before closing his door. “What’s there to be stuck on, on a case of a killer caught... dead,” he corrected after a moment’s pause.

“Anything that would point us to the fact that she knew The—the other killer. She kept a very private life, we barely even know who her friends are. Only interesting thing we found out was the she was seeing a psychiatrist in Baltimore.” Jack was in perpetual frown mode, common when leads kept hitting a brick wall. “I’ll keep you posted.”

The dogs followed Jack outside for a good run, only Winston remaining by the side of his master who stood there by the door locked in thought. He closed the door when he noticed Winston just looking at him and sat down. Since Jack didn’t take his drink, Will finished it for him as he thought back to the woman that kidnapped him. She wasn’t nameless anymore and somehow that made it worse, as the most vivid image of her in the Beta’s head was the one where he quickened her death, where he felt so unlike himself. He wound back the film in his head until there was a vaguely familiar image of her, normal and smiling and lacking gouts of blood streaming out her neck.

Will moved to his work desk and replaced the alcohol with hot tea and reading glasses, strong light still bothering him. He thought back to the evening he got caught, not the trauma but before, when he studied case files. The sense of discovery was there just before everything went to shit, and now felt like a good moment to try and recapture it. Now, when he felt worse than ever before, now when every movement was a particular chore and getting up a daunting task. He thought again of calling the ambulance, but Hannibal would be there soon. He’d take him. Moments of uneasy frustration had Will’s fingers seeking out the marks on his shoulder for solace.

In the meantime he considered when it started, when his nightmares turned from peculiar to threatening, when he began sleepwalking and losing time, and when could it be that he shook hands with someone who might have been The Ripper. Will chewed the end of his pencil, dreading the answers he’d find, when his eyes caught the empty orange bottle. The orange bottle of medication he spent. Medication he got on good regard from someone he trusted. Medication that helped his untreatable case of repulsion. Medication his psychiatrist gave him. A psychiatrist from Baltimore.

The sound of a car stopping by Will’s house distracted him when he remembered the face of his kidnaper belonged to a patient once met in Hannibal’s waiting room, right after Will had an episode.

Of course, of course. It all made sense. A crazy coincidence, but it made sense. Maybe the press held back the name of the killer. Surely Hannibal would step forward if he’d recognized her. Horrible truths hid one last time in the back for Will’s mind for something safer, something that wouldn’t break him down on the spot when conflicting relief washed over him at the sight of his Alpha after a long day.

Hannibal entered the house to find Will stuffing a duffel bag with some shirts. “I need to get to the hospital,” he said and looked up at the Alpha. A smile should have been on his face, or at least Will tried to summon it, but the only thing Hannibal recognized on the Beta was conflicting horror oozing from the glassy blue eyes that could barely stand to look at him. “T-this must be a reaction. Allergic maybe. To the pills you gave me.”

He couldn’t speak in anything other than short sentences, chest heaving with great effort after every gulp of air. Will turned to put more clothes in the bag as Hannibal led Winston out by the collar and turned the lock on the door after the dog.

“You’re not having an allergic reaction,” the Alpha said matter-of-factly.

Will grunted, sounding as furious as an exhausted man could. “What makes you so...” _certain_ , he thought but didn’t finish it, because he knew damn well why.

“You’re not having an allergic reaction,” Hannibal took of his coat and jacket, then started rolling up his sleeves, “because that medicine wasn’t given to you to provoke an allergic reaction.”

Will turned to look at him, actually look at him, all the lies and scales leaving his eyes unable to sustain under the pressure of reality and the Beta’s mind doing what it did best. He looked at a man slightly worn out by a long day of work and not enough sleep. A man who worried and rushed to get here without even make a stop at his house. A man that wanted a family but chose someone who couldn’t give it to him. A man with a mind so unique and life as alone as Will’s, always shielding his true face from the world that didn’t understand. The Alpha he fell for and the Alpha that fell for him in return.

The Beta’s knees grew weak and he had to steady himself on the wall. Hannibal didn’t move, hands resting by his sides. Strong hands, an Alpha’s hands, hands that killed people and held him so tenderly.

The space behind Hannibal assumed a dark shape of swarming ink, the shadow that recently started taking on a form most human in Will’s head. It shaped a man of fine taste and no tolerance for discourtesy. A man who used to be a surgeon. An Alpha capable of viciousness but not lacking in control. Prideful, scornful, better than the swine walking around him. A man so curious he had to make a call to the Hobbs house, just to keep it interesting. Someone so hard to see when there was no traceable motive, just curiosity. Curiosity about what would happen, about what someone like Will would do, how pressure would crack him and how he’d react in the extremes the Alpha found so beautiful. People died for this game – meat caught in a brutal dance of courtship Will didn’t recognize until it was too late. Wound up like a toy and played with in the cruellest ways with poison and lies, and now left to wither away in hopelessness. But even in the delirium of grief Will saw that the player took the game too far for anyone’s comfort. It was little to console him.

_You look but you don’t see._

White numbing noise played in his head. Will turned and staggered into his room, swinging the door closed, key turning in the lock. Hannibal was in no hurry as he unplugged the telephone cord, just in case, and made his way towards the door, trying out the knob.

“Will, open the door,” he said with calm, but not impassively. “They can’t hold me, you know that.”

He’d rather if he didn’t have to leave signs of forced entry in Will’s house, even if he could think of a hundred reasons for it. He’d rather a great many things, but it’s too late for all that. Hannibal heard wheezing and panting on the other side, something breakable hitting the floor. Stress would worsen Will’s condition. The Alpha didn’t ask again, though he tried the knob one last time before backing up and ramming against the door. Wood cracked from the force of impact and the hinges would hold for another blow or two.

On the next impact the lock gave way and the door swung open, Hannibal catching just in time the sight of a furious grief-stricken face hurling at him a metal bedside lamp. The Alpha’s quick reflexes caught the door from swinging too far and shielding with them his head from the dangerous object. The bedroom was left in darkness.

Though Will seemed to insist it, Hannibal had no intentions of turning this any more violent than it had to be. His only attack was flipping the light switch and judging by the sound Will made, it was painful enough. He backtracked utterly blinded, shielding his photosensitive eyes until he hit the corner of the room. Will slid down into a crumpled mess of pained and loud breathing, somehow managing to keep a hand over his eyes.

“What did you do to me,” the Beta screamed, as much as a man out of breath could scream. “Why,” he asked, and the question left him a lot more quiet and heartbroken. “Why,” he kept asking with a miserable bite, hand turning to rub at his eyes while it still had the strength not to fall in his lap. Tear stained eyes were squinting at Hannibal’s shoes.

The Alpha flipped the switch, dimming the lights in the room and giving Will’s eyes some relief, before carefully stepping towards him and kneeling down in front of the Beta. He staved off the hands swinging with exhausted desperation in his direction. “Monster,” he heard hurled at him through gritted teeth as his hands came around Will, pulling him into an embrace he seemed desperate to escape from. “Why,” the Beta kept asking, “tell me why,” as he fought the chest he was held tight against until he had nothing in him left to propel the fight.

More interested in the _why_ than the _what_ –Hannibal noticed it and it brought him nothing but a wrenching feeling deep inside his chest. His mate was crying, inconsolable and angry and choking words with sobs, shaking with grief and pain and questions and Hannibal was in no position to offer him relief or comfort, not when he was the cause of it all. The Alpha felt appallingly useless as his hands soothed Will with gentle strokes after no fight was left in him, because the Beta was still left with a maelstrom of strain and sadness in his tense frame and nothing but bitter words of hate on his tongue. The last words he heard Will choke out, _cruelty immeasurable_ , stuck with him for a long time, and if he had to ascribe a word to his feelings, it would probably be regret. If he had to.

The pressure, both physical and mental, of Will’s discovery crushed the Beta with unexpected ease, setting the clock more forwards than it should have been. Hannibal cradled his limp body for a long time, counting the beats of his heart and swallowing down the limp feeling of dread. The organ settled at forty-five beats per minute and Hannibal had never found himself quite this content in the presence of a heart beating with life. He laid the Beta down on his bed and erased the signs of tears with gentle thumb swipes. The salt he licked from his finger before calling the ambulance.

Before things got complicated, he entertained the thought of taking Will away, but now he couldn’t think of an idea more risky. Will would really hate waking like that, if he’d wake at all.

By the time the paramedics came, everything was set in place – a call to Alana because the dogs needed to be taken care of; refilled medication, vials, and syringes hidden in Will’s nightstand and bathroom for the investigation to come; the face of a concerned psychiatrist set firmly on to play the role of a chance visitor.

+++

A long night of tests passed before anyone at the hospital had any clue what was wrong with Will Graham. The few friends and colleagues that lingered and called were dismissed and told to come back in the morning. They waited now just outside Dr. Murry’s office as she took one last look at her notes.

Beverly was there, partially on Jack’s busy behalf but mostly on hers, Alana too after she had taken care of the dogs, and Hannibal, with an arm of comfort settled on the Omega’s back.

“Well, the good news is,” Dr. Murry took one last peek at the Beta’s medical records, “his situation has stabilized and we don’t expect it to worsen. He has significantly higher chances than most his age of waking up, if 50-50 is something you consider good chances.”

The doctor gauged the reaction of his friends, clearly the closest Mr. Graham had for they were the only ones that came and called. Strange to find an Omega in the mix, considering what she had read of his repulsion, but strangest of all was going through a treatment like this one without any aid, without someone to keep an eye on you. None of them reacted with anything other than irritation at the doctor’s slow delivery and clearly ambiguous wording. The Alpha woman in the black leather jacket looked ready to snap, only good manners keeping her back.

“Hormone therapy,” she told them finally. “Your friend went through a hormone therapy, and not for the first time. His records indicate he’d been through one already as a child, from Alpha to Beta. He’s trying to reclaim his status, it seems.”

The three glared at the Dr. Murry and then at each other, confusion and surprise plastering over their faces.

“Is his mate around?” She asked and only got more bewildered stares aimed at her, though one set of eyes that looked at Dr. Murry was a lot more telling, intentionally so with its intensity. “Sorry,” she quickly amended, “I meant to ask if he had one.” It’s been a long night, she didn’t need a better excuse than that, though the answers she got were all negative. A phantom didn’t leave that mark though.

Dr. Lecter joined her in the office for a talk a little more private. “Can we be frank?”

“If we must,” the Alpha answered and Dr. Murry took it as a no. It made sense, what with the man being Mr. Graham’s psychiatrist. If he was what he alluded to be, that would imply a heavy breach of ethics in the doctor-patient relationship. A detail better left under the covers, so she played along.

“In that case, considering you’re the patient’s psychiatrist, I assume you know the identity of his mate?” The answer was a single nod, slow and reserved. “Be sure to tell them to pay Will visits. Patients in comas respond favourably to physical contact and the presence of their mates. Though I am not certain about the longevity of his mark,” she was sure Dr. Lecter knew this, being a psychiatrist, but she had an obligation to parrot it. “As you know, Alphas can’t mark each other. The bite just heals up, and considering what he’s going through right now, it’s up in the air. It could go either way.”

“I’m aware,” the simplest answer and he did look it; aware of the possibility their bond could be rendered void.

Dr. Murry considered it old world mentality, but a very strong and prevailing one. Relationships functioned for more reasons than simple physical marks. The psychological connection that came with it was, arguably, a lot more powerful if not as powerful for the two sharing a bond. But even she had to admit losing her mark sounded like a nightmare. A betrayal.

She wasn’t much for cataloguing scents, not when the sterile smell of disinfectants burned her nose daily, but there was a particular scent she got very familiar with when talking with family and friends of her patients. It was a rather acrid smell, a little tart in the back of her throat, and she called it worry. While Dr. Lecter certainly behaved like a stoic and dethatched listener, he reeked with it.

Even so, she felt compelled to ask, considering their implied closeness, “Did he have any help with this treatment?” She tried not to sound too accusatory. “This is not a procedure one usually takes alone. The side effects can be pretty brutal, varying from person to person.”

“Considering my position in his life,” Dr. Lecter said and he tried not to sound defensive, failing probably as much as she did trying not to sound accusing, “had I known what he was doing I would have stopped him. I prefer Mr. Graham alive, not suspended in Limbo.”

Dr. Murry bought it and conceded, though some suspicion remained to nag her. Surely someone else had to know of this.

On the other end of town someone else was equally suspicious, though of much more sinister things. Jack Crawford listened to Beverly relay the doctor’s words and it all made sense. He heard Dr. Lecter’s suspicions and worries, heard even Alana’s, saw himself the change in mood and health. It made sense to believe what was given to him as a logical answer, as Will was a person capable of deception and games to keep everyone else blind. But the Alpha couldn’t forget the last talk he had with Will, when dark thoughts of truly sinister play passed through an innocuous question.

A seed of doubt was buried in his head and there it remained, and Jack accepted the news he got but the whole of him could not entirely believe it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Once is chance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1974639/chapters/4885068), twice is coincidence, now let's see if I can make Will throwing lamps at Lecter's head a pattern.
> 
> Only a little more left, welcome to [Alphaverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/245224)! And there you have it, the big reveal. I'm certain a lot of you considered it. Or not? Do tell :D I'd be curious to know.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17, in which Will wakes up (ofc he does) different but the same and has some time to mull things over before bringing it to a conclusion. May or may not end in blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took an extra week to really make this shit proper... and then I just sat on my ass doing fuck all with it. So, uhh, consider the delay "thematic" considering the time in the chapter. *wonk*

 

He didn’t dream, didn’t think of those last moments, didn’t much remember anything to think at all. Empty of thoughts and troubles, just himself drifting through an endless black ocean. Time didn’t exist here – hours, days, weeks, they all bled into one straight line of undisturbed nothing. Sometimes motion would come through like waves on the water, moving him from side to side, arranging limbs he didn’t feel he had, and dabbing wet across his skin. But those waves were scarce and sterile, and they’d leave him quick to the endless drifting. They couldn’t keep his focus, but something else did.

A touch, a point of contact. Hands, sometimes warm and sometimes cold, but always wrapped around his in a firm grasp and soft caresses. It stood out in the void as something tangible and real, a constant repeating over intervals of time. Somewhere between a moment and eternity he considered that time existed, he considered that he existed, and the first fully formed thought that broke through the haze of nothing was how much he wanted those hands to pull him out. There was a world on the surface, a name on his lips, voice in his throat. There was more to him than a formless shape floating in the void and he was certain, as certain nothing could be, that he had it all once and he wanted it back. The void was heavy now, sinking, an unfriendly thing the more aware he became.

When light finally bled through cracks of thinly slit eyelids, he caught the sight of a dark pinstripe suit leaving and closing the door. A name was on his lips again, an association he couldn’t process, but he had to sink back under, the brightness of daylight not sitting well with him and his heavy eyelids.

He tried again almost immediately and his sight was a lot more accepting to the dimly lit room and the setting sun. The concept of time broke through the fog in his head and settled firmly as something fleeting. He did not let his eyes close again as he looked around the white room covered in shadows and wondered where he was and, for the briefest moment, who he was.

+++

Dr. Murry was pleasantly surprised by the news. Will Graham was reaching the point of no return with his deep sleep, but it seemed like he chose that late spring evening to wake up. Six months had passed and Will woke a little different now than he was. He looked confused, as they often do after comatose states, and it took him too long to respond to the sound of his name being called.

“Do you know why you’re here?” She asked as she pulled a chair closer to him and dismissed the nurse that helped Will sit up. He gave no answer other than a shake of his head. “You put yourself through hormone therapy.” Her patient continued to look absent and disorientated as he tried to chew through her words. The beeping of his heart rate kept steeling his concentration.

She chose not to add or talk of the part where actions like his were illegal for men his age. The older one grew, the more difficult and life threatening the procedure was. Even teens were a group of slight risk. He’d remember that on his own in time, surely familiar with the fact considering he worked under law enforcement in some capacity. Dr. Murry doubted there’d be too much to worry about. Will Graham was as an employee of the FBI, and the last thing they ever want was their name dragging through court cases. If it wouldn’t be done for his benefit, the strings would be pulled for the benefit of the Bureau. A taxing fine was in his future though, that much was inescapable, but if he managed to find the money for some black market medication then he’d have no problem with the fine either. A supervised procedure was terribly expensive and black market goods even more so. The administration was prone to limiting hormone therapy as best they could.

“You’re lucky to be awake, Mr. Graham. Even with your family history, the idea was no less risky or stupid,” she spoke kindly while meaning every word of criticism.

A reaction finally came from the man, other than confusion, but using his voice after six months of inactivity was not an easy task. A coughing fit and an almost spilt cup of water later, his raspy voice managed a short question, “What history?”

He clearly need more time to get his head together. She was about to answer with the obvious and leave him to collect his thoughts before they had this talk in full, but she thought better of it for a moment.

It wasn’t rare; it was actually fairly common for children to be unaware of treatments their parent put them through. Some to make their lives better, some to turn their child into what they wanted, and some out of fear for what their child could inherit. It was unfortunate, but parents trusted fear mongering propaganda more than they trusted doctors, scraping for money they didn’t have to ensure their children were free of a parent’s _curse_. And then there were those who simply didn’t want to hate their child.

The doctor could only speculate.

“What sort of treatment were you put through as a child?” Dr. Murry asked, and the answer took a good minute to dig out of memory.

“Repulsion. Therapy.”

Dr. Murry sighed. On the contrary, the hormone therapy from his youth was what certainly fired the repulsion he was born with into overdrive. She got up. “I will leave you to think this through, to collect your thoughts, stretch your limbs, eat some actual food maybe, and we will continue this discussion tomorrow,” she tapped his leg and smiled before laying truth at him. “You mother was an Alpha, Mr. Graham, and your father put you through a hormone therapy as a child. That’s part of the reason I think you’re awake right now. The other is dumb luck.”

 _Or his mate_ , she thought.

The news would take some time to sink in, and Dr. Murry left to do rounds on other patients as a few nurses came in to help Will with movement and to unhook him from the machines.

Next morning one of the nurses that tended to Mr. Graham stopped her in the hallway and asked, “Will you have a word with him today?” Dr. Murry asked the nurse if she saw him fit to have a talk, to which the nurse said, “I think he really needs one.” Her voice dropped low, “He was quite angry yesterday.”

If there was an outburst, Dr. Murry would have known. Will Graham was her patient and she would be the first to consult with restraining measures, but no such news reached her, so she asked the nurse to clarify.

“Oh no, he didn’t raise his voice, or his hands on us. He kept his outburst private in the bathroom and apologies several times as I mended his hand. He broke the mirror, you see. But other than that, he was just terribly quiet, and the anger was pouring off him in waves.” The nurse was a Beta and it would be understandable if she had found Mr. Graham’s presence frightening or unpleasant at the time. Fresh Alphas often were. But she made no mention of her fear, or if she had any, instead imploring the doctor, “Talk to him. I believe he really needs it.”

Will was facing the windows when Dr. Murry entered, hand clutching the I.V. stand for support. He was standing but seemed somewhat rigid and downcast, yet at the sound of his name he turned to face the doctor with a sunny smile. If Will was faking, he did a wonderful job. They sat on his bed to have a talk and she observed the slight insecurity in his walk as he pushed the stand around. He was still getting used to his legs.

She handed him some tissues before he sat next to her, which Will looked at with confusion. “Oh,” he said as the doctor’s scent must have caught his nose finally. “The repulsion is still an issue, I see.”

“You were born with it. I’m afraid it can’t go away, though it has subsided to a less extreme version. It might take a few days, but you senses will come back to you and they will be merciless,” Dr. Murry looked at him apologetically. “You will be wishing back for your Beta nose, trust me,” she found it a lot funnier than he did. “Your eyesight will improve also, as well as your taste receptors.”

Will Graham didn’t seem at all like what the nurse described him. Reluctant to shed light on details that led to his hospitalization, but otherwise warm and pleasant company, mild mannered and curious about many things that waited for him, especially the sex therapist. Dr. Murry kept pushing though, curious in her own right and as a doctor, but Mr. Graham kept deflecting and twisting the conversation back to safer territory.

Most she got on the topic of his self-treatment was an awkward admission. “What’s done is done, let sleeping dogs lie,” and there was the slighted edge to his smiling voice. She couldn’t quite explain it to herself, but Dr. Murry had a feeling something was off about this situation.

The hospital should be Will home for another few weeks – this period was critical, regressions possible, and complications always a threat. After that, he’d have to return only for bi-weekly checkups which would eventually subside into once a week and then, preferably, stop. Mr. Graham seemed oddly favourable of the idea of spending more time locked in his room and undergoing tests. Few ever were.

“Could I ask for a favour?” Her response to Will was a nod. “If I said I didn’t want any visitors for the duration of my stay, could you arrange that?”

Dr. Murry had to admit his request was an odd one. He’d be isolated enough as it was. “Arrangeable, if you’re certain.”

“I am. No visitors.”

She had to ask before leaving, “Not even Dr. Lecter?”

There was a flash of something in his eyes, something cold and worrying, and his voice reflected that. “Especially not Dr. Lecter.” She felt like she finally caught a glimpse of the anger her nurse was talking about.

Will got up from his bed and turned towards the windows again while Dr. Murry lingered by the door. She didn’t know what exactly it was that she stepped into, but she couldn’t stay quiet either. Dr. Lecter was there almost every day, sometimes for a shorter period and sometimes for longer, but he always kept his mate company and never seemed to lose his cultured optimism about Will’s condition. Things would be complicated for them now, both Alphas, and maybe there was some shame in that that had Will Graham wanting to bar him visitation. But of all people to deny visits too, Dr. Lecter shouldn’t be one of them.

“He was here every day, you know.”

“I know,” Will said with his back turned. She noticed one of his fists clench, the one his Alpha often held, now wrapped in bandages from the damage he did himself.

“He’ll be here today as well.”

“I’m certain.”

“You should really consider letting—”

“Dr. Murry, please don’t consider to know anything about me or the life I live,” the icy sharpness was back in his voice and with it gone any pretence of kindness. “Can you or can you not stop people from visiting me?”

Dr. Murry couldn’t help feeling a little vexed at the tone of his voice, though she was certain his attempts to command her were impetuous. Will was too inexperienced to even notice what he was doing. “I can,” she answered as she gathered herself from responding with equal bite.

“Then do it. Please,” he collected himself enough to throw out the apology without too much insincerity.

His decision was a poor one and the doctor caught him many times in moments of stress clutching his shoulder at an almost desperate fashion, but she couldn’t manage to talk him out of it. Will refused to see anyone and worst of all, after a week of tests that seemed stable, he went home. His eagerness to leave grew with each day until Will packed the bags that came with him and left with an obligation of frequent visits.

+++

“Will!” Beverly couldn’t contain her voice when she noticed him. “You’re finally out!”

She found him in the academy halls by the mailboxes. Will pushed something inside with haste and turned towards the other Alpha with a smile. The hug he got was unexpected but not unwelcomed, tighter than the usual. She tried to visit him many times after hearing Will had woken up, but the reception kept telling her visitations were not allowed.

“Jack will want to know you’re walking asap.” She gave him a look-over and, maybe it was the time that passed, maybe it was the lack of sickness in him, and maybe it was the finer clothes he wore, but he looked better. A lot better than she remembered, yet little had changed over all, other than the length of his hair. Will didn’t smell like a stranger to her.

“I’ll have a talk with him, but not today. I have some other business to take care of.”

“Doctor stuff,” she gave a guess.

“Yes, actually,” Will grinned like he had heard a joke. “I need to have a word with Dr. Lecter.”

She had him promise a night of drinks in a bar that week. Beverly also informed him Alana had his dogs and would probably be in need of convincing to give them up after living with them for half a year. He doubted it was quite such a paradise as the Omega may have led others to believe, but they would wait. For as much as he wanted to see them, the dogs would have to wait. And so would Jack, and so would Alana, and anyone else that wanted to greet him after leaving the hospital.

He only spent half an hour in his home, just enough to leave his bags and have a change of clothes, and then he drove straight to Baltimore. He hoped one of his stashed guns was still around, but the investigation took all of them. His licence for fire arms would have to be earned again, but not before he’d have to take that dreaded psych eval.

During his mandatory stay at the hospital, a nurse gave Will a notebook to keep as a diary of medical exams and notable changes; a sort of log for all the strange new things happening to him. A little exercise in catharsis. What Will used it for instead was logging excruciating details of The Ripper and his meddling in Will’s life. Half of it was speculation and half of it an emotionally compromised truth. It was less proof and more ramblings of a mad man without a morsel of evidence other than his words, his sufferings, and skills of deduction. But it would suffice. It would raise flags and fertilize seeds of doubt that already existed in some people, especially if Will were to go missing. He dropped the large envelope into Jack Crawford’s mailbox, his own name written on the back and nothing else. The chance meeting with Beverly was appreciated. It would only aid the flimsy evidence.

 _If_ Will were to go missing. There were options more frightening than death in the mix, and even a pinch of optimism.

He had enough time to think it through, but to truly call it a plan would be an overstatement. There was an idea, an outline, the only one he could talk himself into doing. Or fail to talk himself out of doing. Both were correct. It was also very dangerous, but Will felt like no other choice could possibly come to a satisfying conclusion. He spent too many nights biting his knuckles in frustration to turn his back on the destruction of his life, and far too many nights yearning for something he shouldn’t to go directly to Jack.

Will’s smiling face hid the fantasies of vengeance and retaliation he thought of with glee, only to balk when he reached the moment where he’d have to imagine Hannibal locked up and subjugated to treatments even he called cruel. Even he, who killed unscrupulously and threw banquets on the carcass oh his victims. He who had to be stopped, one way or another.

Or another.

This was a sink or swim situation, and even though sinking was constantly on Will’s mind, a shred of optimism didn’t fail him even in this double-edged sword of a plan – sometimes pleasant and sometimes atrocious. Will knew his mind would change five times over just from seeing Dr. Lecter face, so he didn’t ring the doorbell, thus earning himself a few more seconds for his gut to twist and churn. He swallowed down a hard lump of anxiety at what was to come after he knocked.

It took a while to draw Dr. Lecter to the door, but when Will finally heard him approach without hurry his fists clenched. Will tried his hardest not to imagine colliding them with the other man’s jaw on first sight, but when the Alpha appeared from behind the open door, punching him was the last in the melange of thoughts on Will’s mind.

For a brief moment, the surprise was evident on Hannibal’s face with the way his lips parted and eyes grew wide. It almost looked like happiness before getting tucked under his every day mask of pleasant courtesy.

“Will,” a smile was on his face, a simple greeting, but it reflected in his eyes with a trace of warmth. “How nice of you to visit.” He opened the door wide and stepped aside to let the other Alpha in. Will had his heart stuck in his throat as he entered, but couldn’t quite tell what feeling propelled it. Hannibal stepped behind him and placed a light touch on his shoulder, indicating his wish to remove the other’s coat. Will allowed it and their short-lived hospitality to continue.

“I was just making dinner,” Hannibal did look a little more casual than usual, though even his casual consisted of overpriced cotton shirts. “Come join me in the kitchen,” he said as he led the way and Will did not find it at all surprising that the kitchen was where they’d have their _discussion_.

Hannibal took his place behind the counter, a stainless steel knife in his hands and meat on the chopping board. He continued dicing it as he asked, “How long have you been out of the hospital?”

“Are you implying you don’t know?” Will snorted, and the crack in his civil behaviour made Hannibal raise an eyebrow at him. Oh, he knew. Will didn’t know how but he was certain he knew the moment Will stepped out of the hospital.

“What did he do,” Will ignored Hannibal’s attempt to answer and nudged his head at the meat getting sliced under the cook’s fingers.

Hannibal looked down then back at Will. “What do pigs usually do to end up on someone’s dinner table?”

“Nothing,” Will’s eyes traced the room they were in, all the pans and sharp objects overwhelmingly located on Hannibal’s side. “They just exist.”

“Why do you ask then?” There was a jester’s smile on the Alpha’s face as he stopped the slicing of meat and looked at Will with an unblinking gaze. Oversimplified truth, and they were both aware of it.

Hannibal’s hands set the knife down, but barely moved too far from it. Will’s eyes were stuck on the motion of his hands for too long, and perhaps this farce wasn’t in Hannibal’s interest either, because pretences were dropped quickly.

“I expected you to run,” and this time Will met his eyes with an offended look. “But the more I thought about it, the more I expected a great many things from you.”

“It crossed my mind,” Will admitted, placing his hands into his pockets. “But it would have been too much effort and very little payoff. I have no intentions of living my life with eyes behind my back.”

The air sizzled with a scent, but not one coming from the pots and pans that cooked on the stove. This was an alluring scent Will knew by heart, though now he also recognized in it notes of danger that raised the hair on his nape.

“How badly do you want this?” Will asked curious, but also brimming with anticipation. Good or bad, he couldn’t tell, but his fists were balled in his pockets and he really wanted to break his knuckles against something.

“This?” Hannibal repeated and straightened. Perhaps he found it strange Will couldn’t put himself into that question, choosing instead to hide behind an abstract, but the Alpha stuck to the wording when he answered, “Perhaps as badly as you want this, considering mine is the place you come to almost immediately after leaving the hospital.”

Their eyes were set on each other, only the quickest blinks passing through. The air had become heavy to breath with what could either be lust or craving for blood. “What do you think I’m here for, Dr. Lecter?” The use of surname was intentional, vexing to the other man.

“I’m afraid I haven’t settled on one option yet.”

“Humour me then.”

“Perhaps you’re here to catch a killer,” Will nodded, motioning him to continue along. “Perhaps you’re here to rediscover yourself,” another motion to continue. “And perhaps you come seeking...” Hannibal couldn’t quite voice out the third option, stopping himself midsentence.

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Will gave him a wolfish, mocking grin, but the heavy beating of his heart probably ruined the full effect. What drove it was more sadness than fear.

“I want to continue with my life, Hannibal,” Will’s voice turned mellow around his name and his posture less offensive, subdued. He was angry and sad but he wanted it to work, deep down they both surely did even with how difficult it must sound. “And for all the shit it puts me through, I’m good at my job and I want to continue being good at it. But I can’t, on both fronts. Not when The Ripper is still walking around and in my sight.”

The air was still thick with caution and hunger, and Will chewed his lip to bleed as his eyes followed Hannibal’s splayed hands on the counter, mere tips of his fingers touching the large chef’s blade.

“Are you a killer, Will?” Hannibal sounded dangerously calm. “You, right now. This man in front of me. Is this who you really are?”

“No,” the answer was definitive and the firmest sounding word that left Will’s mouth that day. “But I will do what’s necessary if you force my hand.”

“Would my death satisfy you?” Hannibal asked, and the answer this time was a short and wordless shake of his head.

But Will didn’t ask the same question in turn, afraid of the silence that would be answer enough. “I will do what's necessary,” he reaffirmed.

Will’s nerves flared and he twitched when Hannibal moved his hands away from the counter and crossed them over his chest. The Alpha tilted his head but his next words didn’t mock, though they could have. “You’ve been an Alpha for barely a month. I’ve been one my whole life. The odds are not in your favour.”

“I’ve got a bone to pick,” Will frowned, “and I certainly won’t make it easy on you. If it comes to it,” shreds of optimism barely clung to Will’s words as he said it.

“And what ace in your sleeve do you hide that makes you think this threat you lay in front of me will not lead to the inevitable?” Hannibal still sounded curious, relaxed, but his dark eyes uncharacteristically betrayed up the tension he felt.

“An offer. A question.” Will swallowed hard, knowing he’s reached the end of the line. Sink or swim.

“Tell me.”

“I want you to kill The Ripper,” and Will didn’t hide behind abstracts this time as he asked, “Would you do that for me?”

The surprise was evident on Hannibal and he did not attempt to hide it this time. Will had no doubt the Alpha had considered even this slim chance and there was an answer already prepared and waiting to be said. And maybe the surprise was genuine and maybe a clever decoy, but the currents in the air quickly reached an apex of danger that had one acting a little more quickly than the other. Not a word was said as Hannibal pulled his hands apart and grabbed the large stainless knife. He jumped over the counter with ease, pots and pans hurling to the floor in a loud crash.

Will felt it so clearly in him like nothing before, a wall erecting over thoughts and feelings in his head until only his survival instinct directed him, and scorn fuelled his strength. He grabbed the bar stool besides him and knocked it against the Alpha landing on his feet until he tethered and almost fell, but didn’t drop the knife. Will used the moment of distraction to lunge at him, nails sinking into the hand that held the knife. He didn’t budge though, and used his head to throw Will off balance. First blood was drawn from his nose, but Will sent a kick to Hannibal’s shin in retaliation.

They wrestled away from the kitchen island, away from the knives and pans Will could use, so he settled on the weapons he had on himself and sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of hands that clawed at him. Hannibal grunted loudly and threw him back against the fridge, sparing one look at his hand before swinging the knife straight for him. Will slid down, ducking the swing, and then pushed up with sudden force and velocity, surprising Hannibal enough as he threw him against the wall. The Alpha lost his breath and the grip on his knife and neither wasted time to scramble for it, and while Will got to it first, he earned an elbow to his ribs for the effort. He didn’t give up the knife, though.

Something odd happened then. Will couldn’t explain it, didn’t even notice it at first, but Hannibal struggle was less formidable than it was only a moment ago, grip less tight, and swings more prone to missing. It was almost too easy to crack knuckles against his jaw and send him flying out the kitchen and into the dining room. Another kick when he was down and Will had it as he straddled the Alpha, one hand tight around his throat. Will had the perfect window of opportunity to plunge the sharp knife into his chest and end it. The other just waited, snarling blood through his teeth but doing little to fight him off, other than claw at the hand that restricted his breathing.

It was another game, another test. _Can you? Can you really, Will?_ And the blood between Hannibal’s white teeth reminded him of the night they bonded, as if Will could forget, as if his hand wasn’t unsteady enough as it was. Swimming was clearly no longer an option, only sinking left to him, but the choice how to reach the bottom was still open – either with blood on his hands or his guts in a stew.

Will couldn’t, he just couldn’t bring the knife down. For all the good it would do and for all the vengeful thoughts it would appease, his heart refused to do it.

The window closed and Hannibal was done with games. The hands grabbed his shirt and tipped him over until their position was almost reversed, and Hannibal delivered a punch to his stomach that was as sobering as it was breathtaking. The knife was so easily snatched from him and the first quick jab almost lodged itself through Will’s hand as he scrambled to stand up. He turned chairs over and on him as he tried to put the large dining room table between himself and the Alpha that was clearly done fucking around. Will’s last defence were words, a nervous panic fuelling them as he considered fates worse than death, all entirely possible.

“I trusted you, and you abused it in every sense!” Will grabbed the centrepiece of ostrich eggs and flung them at Hannibal, narrowly missing him. There were answers he deserved to get before he met his end. “How could you put me through this?!”

“I did you a favour,” they stopped their circling around the large table, Will frozen in track from the snarling anger of words leaving Hannibal. The Alpha did not pretend calmness, clearly displeased by many things in their current dance. “I restored you from the miserable life you had, showed you who you truly were.” He licked the blood off his lips and spat in a vulgar animalistic manner on his own floor, eyes set with a furious menace on Will.

The menace only fuelled Will’s overwhelming sense of betrayal. “I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter,” he spat his name out. “You don’t know what it’s like to care.” It was the anger talking, the unwillingness to accept the other’s view, not now. But Will knew that at best what he heard was truth, and at worst only half of it.

Will saw the insulted look on Hannibal, a retort ready to be spun against him on the tip of his tongue, but the younger Alpha didn’t want to hear it, any of it. He flipped the large table, surprising Hannibal in process, and made one last lunge at him, tired of dreading the end. He knocked Hannibal against his row of fresh herb spices, jamming the wooden shelf in his back. The Alpha howled in pain but the retaliation was almost instant as Will lost ground at his feet and found himself hurled back at the turned table, wind knocked again out of him. Breath jammed in his throat, but he managed to roll out the way of hands grasping for him. Not fast enough though, as they reached him a moment after, twisting him and pushing violently against the sliding door. Will didn’t get a moment to prepare as Hannibal was on him immediately, a strong arm jabbing the gleaming knife in one powerful thrust, so hard it came out through the other side of the door.

A whimper got stuck in Will’s throat at the touch of the cruel cold blade, pain shooting through him from various directions while numbness tingled in his head. Hannibal was impossibly close to him, pushed against him in an invading and intimate manner as his hand kept working the knife further, wood cracking and splintering in its wake. Will’s arms were poised to push the other away but he made no efforts to do so, holding on instead to Hannibal’s arms. His eyelids closed tight as a painful groan left him and the sweetness in the air left him dizzy and unwilling to respond, lightheaded, though that could be from the blood seeping from him.

Hannibal nosed the crook of his neck, taking unabashed liberty with their proximity. He expected something new from this younger Alpha in front of him, something different and foreign, but what he found was utterly familiar and the deeper he inhaled the more he was certain of how little had changed. Will was his, stubbornness be damned, Will was his and he smelled like he belonged to him no less now than before. Subtle but the same.

“We all have our vices,” Hannibal moved his head back enough to have a look at Will’s face, his dazed eyes looking back at him. The younger Alpha looked pale and fearful, alarmingly close to the way he looked the last time Hannibal saw him awake. “You seem to be mine,” Hannibal said and let go of the blade. He used his free hands to tear through the top buttons of Will’s shirt to expose the scarring from the bite Hannibal left on him when he was a Beta.

The wet tongue drawing against the skin of his shoulder brought some sense back into Will’s head and feeling into his flesh. When the kisses trailed up his neck and reached his jaw, when their closeness threatened to divulge into something a lot more warm and lustful, Will used his hands to push and turned his head away from the kiss set to claim his mouth.

Hannibal took the hint and stopped himself. He remained curious for a moment before allowing the other some space, but not much. One of Will’s hands was still on his chest, poised to keep him at arm’s length, while the other pulled the shirt back over his exposed shoulder.

The chill of cold steel prickled his skin. Will looked down before speaking, at the blade embedded deep in the wood. It went through his shirt but not the flesh of his abdomen, though it got close enough, ripped a thin fine cut with its nearness.

Only monsters could kill their mates in cold blood without an ounce of hesitation and a steady hand, and while one of the two certainly fit the mould, he didn’t fit it that much. Instinct drove him to try, to give Will the same chance and to try himself, but Hannibal couldn’t go through with it. Whether that decision came that moment, that day, or weeks ago, it didn’t matter. What did matter was that he conceded, and Will could hardly believe it. But he did consider it, and he knew where to go from here.

“Don’t touch me like that again,” Will said and he tried to sound firm with his words, though given what he just went through, it wasn’t easy pulling it off. “You’ve lost that right, and if you want it again you’ll have to earn it.”

There was surprise on the face of his Alpha that morphed into an impish grin. “I suppose I never did properly court you, did I?”

Will frowned at the cruel joke. “I’m very serious, Hannibal.” Will omitted mentioning how he’d truly consider stabbing him in the back if his terms weren’t met. Another déjà-vu of what just went down, though if that fight came to pass it would have to end in blood. That went without saying.

“I know,” Hannibal kept up his smile and stepped further away, allowing Will more breathing room. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

+++

“I’d offer you dinner but I’m afraid the meat wouldn’t be to your liking.”

The two rooms they ransacked were a mess, but that wasn’t Will’s problem and he had no intentions of helping. Only the dining room table and two chairs were set in order with his help, but that was out of necessity. Two plates with dessert were set aside, waiting for them to finish licking their wounds.

One thing Will agreed to, though he knew he shouldn’t, was to allow Hannibal to check and treat his wounds. It, again, made practical sense considering he was a doctor. But Will relished more in the gentle touches and careful dabbing, so much he even let his eyes close. Hannibal spoke to him in low murmuring tones, though Will couldn’t concentrate on the words, too swept up in a pleasant sense of victory and a hope that all of this would work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short epilogue on Sunday to wrap things up. All the threads and questions left hanging after it are sequel material. 
> 
> This work was supposed to stay in the 30k/40k mark, something quick and simple y'know? And yet here we are. Still not sure if broadening it was a good decision, but the brain willed it so the hands had to type it all out. Hope y'all had a good ride and are interested to see more of this 'verse :D!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little epilogue to wrap this part of the story up.

 

“It’s good to see you again,” Jack gave him a broad smile and ushered him into the office where they sat. “When did you leave the hospital?”

“Yesterday.”

Jack leaned back, squinting as he gave Will a look over. He seemed well, other than the fairly obvious bruise blooming around his split lip and nose. “Maybe you should check yourself back in. What happened?”

Will laughed it off and said, “I went to have a few drinks at a bar after I left.”

Jack could understand that. He almost gave up on ever seeing Will again after how much time passed, and when he heard otherwise from Katz, he was never more glad to be wrong. His team had an off the clock round of drinks in his name and it seemed like Will had much the same idea for his first day out, though significantly more private.

“Some ruckus broke out and, maybe I had a little too much liquid courage,” Will chuckled. “Not the best decision I ever made, but I lived.”

“How’d it go for the other guy?”

“Oh, he was an Alpha too, so the damage was pretty even.”

Surprise grew on Jack’s face and he mouthed a silent ‘oh’. He almost forgot about Will’s change and his nose barely even noticed the subtle shift in scent. “Are you well? Generally speaking.”

Will told him a little about his time in the hospital and how he woke up. He never mentioned why visitations were not allowed and Jack didn’t want to intrude with questions. The Alpha was curious about many things but kept quiet about most. The way Will spoke gave up his utter reluctance to talk about the procedure he, allegedly, put himself through. Not the right time; Jack would have to wait some more.

He kept noticing Will’s eyes catching on the case files that were littered around his desk, so Jack started closing them and setting them aside. “Sorry,” he said, “I doubt work is what you want to see right now.”

“No, actually, that’s exactly what I came here to tell you,” Will shifted in his chair, eyes glued to the mounds of papers and envelopes on his desk. “I want to get back to work.”

“Teaching?”

“Teaching and profiling.” Jack didn’t expect to hear the second one.

Going back to his job as quickly as possible was anticipated. Will had quite the fine to cover with the dangerous antics he pulled on himself, but profiling was not a part of Jack’s equation, though again, he couldn’t say he was disappointed to hear it. The Ripper murders, still filed as a copy cat, stopped after the odd and unorthodox sounder of four, and he was just waiting for someone to have a look at them again and shed some light. The Alpha still remembered Will’s twisted ideas and the more he was left to think about them, the more he believed them.

“Are you sure about this,” Jack asked.

“Yes. Yes, I’ve been thinking about the cases I left for a while now and, now that the fever is gone, I want to give them another look. A better look.”

He ordered Will another week of rest, though the younger Alpha wanted to start immediately but Jack was having none of it. Teaching was an easier position to reinstate him as, but profiling would require some work, a psychological evaluation, and a lot of chatting up with the administration. Before Will left, Jack passed him a large yellow envelope with his name written on the front.

“I have no idea what this was doing in my mailbox,” Jack frowned and Will looked equally puzzled by it. “Someone trying to make me the mailman.”

“Who knows,” Will shrugged and tucked the envelope under his arm. “Thanks, Jack.”

The Alpha shook his head with a smile and escorted Will out of his office.

+++

More than anything, Will wanted to stay in for the night and enjoy the company of his pack. When Alana brought the dogs over, there was a hesitant moment when they were cautious of Will, like they didn’t recognize his scent. But that confusion only lasted a moment before they joyfully surrounded him and ruined his clothes with their paws and wet snouts. Alana was charmed by the scene, admitting to missing them already. The only solution Will could recommend her was more dogs, which she seemed to take to heart. She wrote down the few names of animal shelters he gave her.

And now he had to leave them again, alone in his house, for a party he really didn’t feel a need for – a sentiment only he shared. A small little gathering of friends and co-workers that Alana instigated a few days after she heard of his release, hosted by Hannibal Lecter of course.

The subjects of conversation veered off personal life – no one asked Will why or how, whether he was handling the change and how he was adjusting. It was all talk of the six months he missed with a funny life anecdote here and there, courtesy of Jimmy Price. There was wine by the barrel getting passed around and Will mostly indulged in it to spring himself into a chatty mood while also quieting his hunger. He did manage to find a platter of meatless canapés just as he was seeking some solitude on the balcony.

The solitude didn’t last long.

“Unusual for you,” he said as he enjoyed the servings he grabbed on the cool evening air, “to make something vegetarian.”

Hannibal came to stand next to him, setting his glass of wine on the balustrade. “I was not familiar with the preferences of this crowd. It’s best to be prepared.” He eyed the glass of wine Will held and the food he was eating before adding, “You seem to have taken a liking for it.”

A snort left Will, and he almost spat the food he was trying to chew with his giggling. “I’m not eating your meat, Dr. Lecter,” he said through a smile.

“You don’t trust I’ll uphold—”

“I don’t trust you, period.” Will spared an indignant look at the Alpha who watched him with little reservation in his gaze. Traces of a pleasant smile lingered on his face and Will bit back the cruel words on the tip of his tongue. Cruel but justified. He turned away from the unblinking eyes that threatened to mellow his anger even further. “It’ll take you a long time to rebuild what you destroyed.”

He couldn’t trust the man’s words, not yet, not sure if ever, but Will could trust himself, his nose and taste. He just had to exercise their abilities until they were worth a damn.

They spent quiet minutes on the balcony together, nothing but the sound of crickets keeping them company. The Alpha took away his half empty glass of wine and, before Will could even protest or snatch it back, Hannibal asked, “Would you like to spend the night here?”

Will’s brow furrowed. “N-no,” the answer didn’t come as quickly and as surely as it should have, but it was still a no.

“Then you should stop drinking,” his Alpha smiled, “otherwise you won’t be able to drive home.”

Not a drop of alcohol came in Will’s direction for the remainder of the party, though he was last to leave under the excuse of helping with cleanup. He didn’t intend to do that, but there was something else he had in mind to treat his good doctor with. A little tease, a little touch, a little back against the wall, hooded eyes, and bared throat. A warm scent of desire lingered in the air, in the privacy of their company. Lips barely brushed against each other when Will smacked the letter he sneaked out of his jacket against the Alpha’s chest, his hand pushing it and the other man away from himself.

“A courier brought it yesterday,” Will said as Hannibal stepped away to take a look at the letter. “I believe it’s yours.” Will’s name was on it but, technically speaking, it belonged to Hannibal. He caused it. “Will there be a problem?”

The fine was large and it would have caused problems for Will if he had any desire to pay it, which he didn’t, not when it was someone else’s problem inflicted on him in egregious ways. “No,” Hannibal said simply after examining the letter.

Will nodded and went for the door to see himself out when a hand pulled him back a little unkindly and threw him against the wall. No questions, no _may I_ or _would you mind_ , no tenderness either, and it sparked anger in the younger Alpha, the kind of anger that melted to passion so quickly it was a question if it was ever even there. Teeth and tongue and callous hands, bodies flush against each other, low moaning through a breathless kiss – it lasted for as long as they had air, until the fire died down and its smoulders threatened to turn their clash into something soft and affectionate.

“Not a problem at all,” Hannibal whispered against his lips, and it took the younger Alpha a lot of will to push the other away and leave as quickly as possible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much of an ending, is it? Well, it's not meant to be. That, or I'm bad at endings, pick one.  
> I need to cleanse my mind with something else (part three of [Hunting Grounds](http://archiveofourown.org/series/132510)) before grabbing this one again. The hardest will be figuring out how Hannibal will work. Eesh, it's already giving me nightmares. So don't expect a sequel soon, but it will come. Speed isn't my forte.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around. Hope you enjoyed my special snowflake taste in a/b/o fics and come again :D!  
> For the curious, I tumble - [fourth-axis@tumblr](http://fourth-axis.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Dyslexic eyes. Parson the mistakes.


End file.
